Born to Play
by ravenscroft07
Summary: Panem is readying itself for the start of the 67th games. It is the morning of the Reaping, and all the eligible children in District 7 will soon be waking with a shared sense of dread. All, that is, except 17 year old Tyla Ravenscroft. (If you're looking for a new full length HG book, a 'book 4', then this is for you! A prequel with mostly OC's, will be updating frequently!)
1. Chapter 1

Reaping day doesn't strike the same note of fear into me that it does to others. I suppose that's not too surprising. It's not the way most people feel, but then most people don't live in the Community home. If you were looking for a reason not to fear being sent to certain death then the Community home is it. We are all miserable here in District 7, all trapped by our lives rather than living them, but that does not mean that the majority of us do not_ want_ to live them. The others can complain about the lack of food, the bitter cold, the cruelty of the peacekeeper s, but on reaping day they all ball their fists tightly at their sides, praying for anyone's name other than their own, for one more chance, one more year. Not me. I wait for the name to be pulled with a frisson in my stomach, a spark of nervous exhilaration. _It could be me_.

I am certain the others would do the same, had they not homes to go to, the promise of if not food at the end of the day, then at least a family to make the nights a little less dark and desolate. All that greets me when I return from a long, thankless day at work is a large, ominous building, somehow colder inside than it is out, owned by Shasta, a woman even colder and more ominous than the house itself. I have no family to greet me, instead I have hours of chores which I perform alone before heading to sleep in what barely passes for a bed in a room I share with 40 other girls, not one of whom I could call an acquaintance, let alone a friend. This is why I do not fear the games as others do; I have nothing to lose other than that which I would be glad to. To me, the games are not a burden; they do not bring despair but promise, the chance to escape from the half-life I tolerate on a daily basis, and rather than dread them, I await them.

One year it became that mere anticipation was not enough. It was just three years ago, when I was aged 14. A particularly unbearable few months had passed at the home and a plan had formed in my head- I would volunteer for the games. Then I would be free. As soon as this idea had occurred to me it was like a weight had lifted; relief at leaving had overwhelmed me and I had found myself eagerly anticipating the drawing as my means of escape. _Just four more months,_ I had kept telling myself. _Four more and I'll be gone_. From that point on I had carried it in my head, a precious secret that got me through the dark days, and it had quickly become the entire focus of my existence.

I had even begun training. Not that I had any thoughts of actually winning, at least not serious ones- I'd seen the careers, from the higher Districts, and they were huge; girls who looked like boys, and boys who looked like men. I knew a scrawny 14 year old from the lower Districts held little chance of success, but that didn't matter. For me it was about leaving, not winning. Even with death as a virtual certainty I knew I would rather take my chances in the games, knowing that either result- death or victory- would result in me never having to set foot in the Community home again.

Despite knowing victory was unlikely I still planned to put up a good fight, and as much as I had tried to ignore it, as much as the logical side of me had denied it as a complete impossibility, a small part of my brain had always thought, why not? Why not me? I could win. Stranger things have happened, stranger victories have occurred. All I needed was some resilience - and to be able to run. With this thought in mind I had taken to rising early and running the streets of the District every morning, and by my fourth week of this I had managed to convince myself I would win. I was fast, I knew this, and reasonably strong, and I had felt for sure there was nobody in the District better prepared than I.

It was then, perfectly timed to prove the laughable extent of my naivety, that I ran into Dex. Literally. I rounded a corner and there he was, towering over me, and as I collided with him in surprise I found him immovable, as strong as the stone walls guarding the perimeter and twice as threatening. I sprang back from the impact but he caught me before I fell.

"Whoa there, missy. Watch yourself."

His voice was almost inhumanly deep, and as strong as the arms which held me in a vice like grip. I didn't know him but I'd seen him around; he lived in the Community home like me, but we'd never spoken. He was too old, too strong, too handsome, and I wasn't sure he even knew my name. But I was wrong.

"You're Tyla, right?"

I stared dumbly back at him as he steadied me, too amazed to respond as he looked down at me with a frown. "You're not a mute are you Tyla?" he asked, and I swallowed quickly, getting a hold of myself as I choked out a few words.

"No. Yes, it's Tyla."

He nodded, releasing his grip on my shoulders and straightening up. This didn't make his presence any less threatening, and I felt my insides curl as he gazed down at me.

"I've seen you running Tyla. For what purpose?"

My eyes widened at this news. He had seen me? I'd never seen him whilst running, not even once, and it was humbling, that this beast of a boy could be watching me and I wouldn't even notice. For the first time I felt a little less like a potential winning tribute and a little more like a foolish girl running the dirty streets of the District. I looked up at him, wondering whether to trust this terrifying stranger who looked so much like an adult, before swiftly deciding there was no reason not to. After all, there wasn't a single adult alive who would object to my plan to volunteer for the games; many would likely encourage it to spare their own simpering daughter, so I couldn't see it making a difference even if he did say something. This thought gave me strength, and I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye.

"I'm training. Training for the games."

He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest, making him appear even bigger. Not to be outdone, I folded my own.

"You plan to volunteer?"

He was smirking, though I was unsure if this was due to my inadequate mimicking of his stance or the idea of me volunteering. Either way, it fired my temper, and I narrowed my eyes defiantly. "Yes." He studied me for a moment and then nodded.

"Me too. You can train with me if you like. I could do with a partner."

I had started slightly in surprise but tried not to show it. I had not expected him to ask me why I was training for the games- as a fellow Community kid I assumed he would know my reasons. But the revelation that he was training too, that I wasn't the only one with such a scheme, was disconcerting enough to leave me gawping at him like a fish. He raised an eyebrow.

"If you'd rather not then say. But if you're serious about volunteering then you'll do it. Just running around the District isn't going to help you kill a career."

This pricked both my pride and my interest and I closed my mouth, glaring. "Oh yea? Well what do you do?" He grinned.

"Something better. I'll tell you, but only if we're partners."

I looked at his hand as he held it out to me, dry and rough but big enough to enclose two of mine, and didn't consider for a second before I shook it. He grinned, his first proper smile, showing a row of strong, almost wolfish teeth, and then turned on his heel, striding away.

"Come on then, Tyla. Let's prepare you for certain death."

I felt afterwards this was probably a last minute attempt to check my commitment, but at the time all I felt was rage at his assumption that I would die. A burning urge to prove him wrong pounded in my head as I jogged after him, taking several quick steps for each one of his long strides, and as we walked he filled me in.

He had started training 6 months ago, he told me, after one of the colder winters we had had in a while had demanded more wood for Panem, and longer working hours for District 7. His 12 hour days had turned to 14, then 16 as the District struggled to meet the increasing targets demanded by the Capitol. Working for endless hours in the frost bitten air was hard enough, he had said, but worse was Shasta's refusal to lift the curfew she places on the house. Night after night he would beg to be let out early from work so that he might get home before the doors were bolted shut and still have a bed for the night, but he was always refused. He would return to a dark and silent house, unresponsive to the beating of his fists against the heavy door, and it was during his third week of sleeping in the doorway, hunched up with his back turned against the biting wind, that he had decided that nothing in the Hunger Games could be worse than anything he would have to bear in the District. He had immediately decided that this year would be his last, and his own training regime had begun. He too had spent time running the streets, until as he put it "I got serious."

He had begun collecting weapons, started planning a strategy even- though he refused to indulge it to me. But he was ready, he was sure of it. He was fit, strong, he could fight, feed himself- and he could climb.

"Can you?"

We had stopped suddenly, him looking down at me expectantly as I stared dumbly back. "Climb? A little." I replied, and he nodded. "Well, get better. We're going up."

It was only then that I had realised where we were. We had not, as I expected, gone in the direction of the forests- I was glad of this, as the fences were guarded and I had not been looking forward to confronting the Peacekeepers. Instead we were at the other end of the District, the housing area, close to the boundary wall, beyond which lay the woods we did not harvest that extended backwards towards District 6.

I looked up to where he was gesturing and immediately saw what he meant for us to do. Growing over the wall, barely visible from this angle, was a tree branch. It was blocked from view by a roof, but it was there. I looked at Dex.

"We're breaching the wall?" I asked, and he nodded. "Up and over."

The woods on this side of the District were strictly out of bounds, and this combined with the dark and ominous way they towered before me had started my heart racing, but before I had a chance to think he had swung himself onto the roof and was leaping clear over the wall. I heard a rustle on the other side that signified he had made it and felt my stomach dip. The stone wall itself was no problem, but it was lined along the top with poisonous barbs, glass, wires and stone shards, and I wasn't sure I could clear it as neatly as he had. But I had to, I reminded myself. There could be far worse waiting in the arena.

I quickly and quietly scaled the house as I had seen Dex do, and without giving myself time to hesitate pushed off hard and sprang forward. I just cleared the wall, but made a less than dignified entrance as I missed the branch and instead clung haphazardly to the trunk as I slid to the ground. Dex laughed as he pulled me up, watching me wince as I tugged shards of bark from my hands, and patted me on the back.

"Not bad for a first go. You'll get better."

We walked for barely ten minutes until we reached a clearing, where I realised the seriousness of his intentions. Work tools, shears, knives, hammers and large blocks of wood lay scattered, along with definite splashes of dried blood. I looked at him in alarm and he smiled.

"Animals. Come on."

I quickly realised I was not here for my benefit but for his, but this was unsurprising given that he had invited me to join him. My job was not to train myself, but him- I threw things, moved targets, gave chase and fought back, but I didn't mind. It was still more training than running would ever have given me, and so we quickly settled into a routine. After a month or so, whilst we had not become friends we were comrades of sorts, and I had even developed skills of my own- I was handy with the axes, and though my hand to hand combat left much to desired, my skill at throwing knives and spears came so naturally that it more than made up for it.

"You're dead if anyone gets close to you" Dex had declared in exasperation more than once after easily deflecting my feeble hits, but I decided it didn't matter. I too had been working on a strategy- climb and throw. Whenever I had the chance I would scale trees, buildings; everything I could, and force myself to leap from one to the other. I kept this from Dex- we were to be opponents, I reminded myself, and I had to have some tactics he did not know about. I discovered he had been thinking the same one day when, out climbing, I discovered him wrestling a wolf. It was not too large, slightly bigger than me, but it was still an animal with teeth and claws, and to see him overpower it was brutal and terrifying- a reminder of the potential abilities of those who awaited me in the arena.

"You're better than any career I've ever seen" I had blurted during sword practice later, and he had grinned widely, pleased at the accolade. I noticed he did not return it, and it was around then I decided not to volunteer that year. Having my District partner know me so well could only be a disadvantage, and I didn't want to run the risk of being unable to kill him when the time came. Emotions led to weakness, and while I was certain that I didn't hold him in any regard high enough to hinder my progress in the games, I wasn't prepared to risk it.

At the Reaping that year I was nervous, for once, knowing that if my name _was _called then Dex would beat me for sure. But it wasn't- Ana Wallis was the name drawn that year. I remember, as clear as day, her trembling face as she took the stage, her tearful eyes as she found her parents in the crowd, Dex's confused eyes pinned on me as they asked for volunteers and I kept my head down. He was hailed a hero when a young boy was called and he stepped forward and volunteered. He had many visitors, as many as they could allow, but I didn't visit him. Nor did I visit Ana, though seeing her parents' tear-stained faces was as close as I came to feeling anything like guilt. _It should have been me_ I thought as I passed them in the street, but I brushed it aside. She had been chosen, fair and square. And why should I volunteer? I was only 14. She was 17, and from a well-fed family- she had a far better chance than I did.

I had watched the games with renewed fascination that year, particularly the interview stage, where I watched Dex strut and preen and accept compliments for his bravery in volunteering in a town where it was uncommon. It turns out that the strategy he had kept so closely guarded was one so simple I could have guessed it- arrogance. He bragged about his size, his strength, his abilities, his determination, mentioned numerous times how the careers should watch their backs- that he was going to be in it until the end.

As it was, he didn't last a minute. The moment the whistle blew he ran for the Cornucopia and armed himself, but before he had a chance to use the spear, the axe, the long, impressive sword I knew he would adore, he was taken upon by all 6 careers at once. I'd never seen anything like it. He was dead within the first 60 seconds, leaving Ana to take the mantle. She did little better, lasting less than a week before she was attacked by Muttations. She fought them off valiantly but was severely weakened, and was killed by a tribute later that night as she lay sleeping.

I wasn't sure if I felt sad or not that Dex had died so suddenly, but I quickly decided I didn't care. We were not friends, I had been right about that; he was just another victim of the Hunger Games, another life. I also knew I had been right in my instinct to not volunteer. I would fare better, now I had seen his strategy fail. I would learn from his mistakes, just as I would benefit from his training.

Our District mourned his loss as a great tragedy, and the boy whose place he took collected his body when it was returned to us. That had blackened my mood for a while, as I had wondered who would collect my body. I spent a little time allowing my gaze to hang on the faces of the younger girls in the District, wondering, but I did not linger on this thought for long- I will know next year, I told myself. But I didn't. Not next year. Not the year after that. Every year my best intentions failed me and my head stayed down. Every year I decided I was not quite ready, that I needed more training. But not this year. This year, I've decided, I'm ready. This year I'll volunteer. This year I'm going in.


	2. Chapter 2

Contemplating the training I began with Dex so many years ago has given me an urge to go out his morning. Usually I don't- usually the Reaping is the one day of the year that I skip it, but this morning my feet are restless, urging me up, telling me to go.

I slide from my bed and stretch, allowing my sore limbs to flex out like elastic. There is rarely a day they do not ache, thanks to my daily training, the significant list of chores bestowed upon me by the Community home, and the daily chopping and gathering of wood, the work I have been required to do since I turned 16. This morning, however, they do not ache; they yearn for climbing and hunting and action.

"Patience" I mutter, either to them or myself, I'm not sure. I often consider my body as a separate entity when I observe all the things I can do, how strong and able it has become. I can't quite reconcile that with the image of myself which is installed in my head; the skinny, moody, Community orphan who has so long been considered a useless nobody. I am not useless. And I am not a nobody. This year, I am a tribute.

I tug on the plain brown trousers, vest and boots that are almost a uniform for the Community kids and slip quietly from the room, quickly twisting my long red hair into a haphazard knot on the top of my head as I fly down the stairs. I am told my mother had long, flowing, golden red hair, more beautiful than a princess. Mine is a dirty red, like dying leaves before winter, and rather than flow it hangs almost sullenly. It is hardly the hair of a princess, and for the most part it is little more than a nuisance. If I was less weak and sentimental I would have chopped it off long ago, but it ties me to my family, the family I never had, so it is allowed stay.

I slow my pace as I head to the kitchen, hoping to catch it empty so that I might steal a handful of oats or even a slice of bread. It is not a risk I need to take, as I am perfectly adept at feeding myself, but I do it each day anyway; a tiny, pointless act of rebellion that I can't resist. Knowing the temperament of Shasta I consider this to be a bigger risk than hopping the boundary wall each day, as something as inconvenient as breathing has been known to set her off in the past, and she frequents the kitchen more often that I would like. Indeed, there she is, her shrivelled legs propped on a chair as she mashes what looks like a handful of roots in a bowl. She starts as I enter, her eyes narrowing as she shoots her poisonous glare at me.

"What do you want?" she spits, clasping the bowl tightly as if I'm about to snatch it from her fingers. I ignore her as I walk past her to the tap for some water, the misdirection I always use on days the kitchen is occupied.

"Don't be long. You're to help prepare the young uns' for the ceremony. And bring some fire wood back with you," she snaps as I walk back past her. I ignore her and leave the room and she says nothing more, throws nothing after me. She could be in a good mood, knowing it is Reaping day and she will possibly lose an unwanted charge to the games, but I tend to be treated better than some due to the extra food I bring into the home. As a Community child I am obliged to sign up for Tesserae at least once, but since any grain we get is divided between us all there is little reason for anyone to sign up more than that, as they will not benefit directly. Despite this I always do, adding a few more each year, a way of tempting fate and daring a higher power to draw my name. Some of the other children seem to consider this a sign of protectiveness or fondness towards them, and I have received one or two words of admiration from a few, but they are too aware of my reputation for coldness to make any attempt to befriend me. As for Shasta, she would never thank me. I am sure she wonders why I do it, as I show so little regard for anyone that a selfless act must seem out of character, but she is marginally less hateful towards me than she is to the others, and I have always taken this as grudging recognition of my contribution.

The view of the morning sky through the dirty hallway window shows that the clouds are thick but white, so I leave my threadbare rain jacket on its hook and head straight out the door. I break into a jog as soon as I do, picking up the pace faster than usual, feeding the urge to get my heart racing. As I near the spot where I jump the wall I pick up the pace again until I am flat out; my feet pounding the sparse earth, the muscles in my legs contracting, my arms slicing through the air as I fly towards my destination. I do this sometimes, run from an imaginary attacker; it gives me encouragement to know I am capable of running for my life. Everything I do now is training; at work I climb the highest trees, collect the heaviest batches of wood I can, push myself to the furthest limit every day. I eat my lunch wild, kill animals and pick berries- my life is one long pre-tournament training zone, and it suits me perfectly.

The tree I use to jump the wall has grown over more in the years since Dex first showed it to me, and the house which I used to rely on has now become an unnecessary obstacle. I sprint towards it and leap at the last second, catching the branch mid-air and launching myself over the fence. I land on the other side in a crouch and wait, carefully, quietly, allowing my heart rate to slow as I listen. I have taken this route daily for the last three years, but still I give myself a moment to pause when I breach the wall; despite the ease with which I do it, crossing the wall is still illegal, and I am always careful to keep my eyes open in case any Peacekeepers take it upon themselves to patrol. They never do; as usual it is silent, and after regaining my breath I set off in a steady jog to my self-made training arena.

After Dex left, it was a few months before I dared venture further than the spot he had shown me. It took me that long to feel like I could go it alone, to ensure that I was capable of training without him, and to make myself feel like I was even entitled too- for it to turn from his forest into mine. It had started with my climbing, leaping across trees and attempting to push myself further and further each time. I would leap as far and as long as I dared and then run back to the wall, and it was during one of these runs that I found what is now my training area. It's further than the one Dex had designated for us, about 45 minutes at a steady pace, but it's larger and far better suited for its purpose. I always think of it as a mini arena. It has a lake for one thing- more of a small pool really, but enough to give me some practice in water. I know from previous games that it will be a wise idea to learn to swim, and though I am not good I am capable. There are also deep trenches off to the side, a tall stone cavern that leads upwards for climbing and plenty of trees surrounding it. It is where I always go now, and my feet can find it better than my head. As this thought hits me I realise I should have tried different routes, learned to find my way in unfamiliar territory_. _Oh well. It's too late now. Today is my last day here, my last chance.

I slow down as I enter the familiar clearing and immediately climb the rocks. A little under a minute's climb upwards is a small shelf, and it is here I keep my weapon stash. I have a handful of knives, all different shapes and sizes, mostly picked up from the forests during work but once or twice stolen from Shasta's kitchen. She's only noticed one go missing, and she screamed bloody murder, but I kept quiet and took my beating alongside her other suspects, feeling nothing but joy at knowing I had one more weapon to add to my armoury. I also have a few wooden clubs, a scythe which I never really use except for hunting, a large heavy mallet and two axes, one large and one small. I have tried not to use these two often as I rarely see them show up in the games, but they come so naturally to me that it's hard to stop myself hurling them at the trees most days. If by some miracle I do manage to get some in the arena, I'm sure there's no way I can lose.

My final weapon is a spear that used to belong to Dex, and it's real, not cobbled together as some of his others were. I never asked where he got it, and to be honest I don't really care- it's mine, and that's all that matters. It's this that I reach for now- its heavy, dense and sharp, and my arms muscles tense with effort as I lift it high above my head, tossing and catching it. Spears are a good bet in the arena, so I often practice with it, and my aim is so dead on now that I'm sure it couldn't be better. I turn suddenly and hurl it across the forest, and it slices through the air, slamming loudly into the trunk of a tree. I grin to myself and scoop up the rest of my weapons, tucking them into my belt as I scale back down the rock face.

I spend at least an hour on my target practice, selecting a tree or a patch of earth and assigning it a tribute number. _Boy, District 4,_ I tell myself, crouching low as I fixate on a small mound of earth by the lake and then flinging out three knives in quick succession. _Girl, District 9,_ I think, turning quickly and hurling two knives and an axe into the trunk of an oak 30 yards behind me. They all hit the target and I feel a surge of pride and triumph. I can't lose. This joy quickly falters as I pass the lake and I stop, staring down at it reluctantly. I have so little experience in water and I always hate it- I am far happier in the trees, climbing, or on solid earth- anything other than feeling the unpredictable water around me. But I have to be prepared, and this is my last chance.

I strip off and slide into the pool, cursing as my heart flutters at the unnatural feel of the water buffeting around me, and I manage 10 laps before I am too uncomfortable to continue and haul myself out. I pull on my familiar clothes and sigh, leaning back against the wall, relieved at its solid realness after the murky lake, and allow my mind to drift.

I wonder what the arena will be like. Dex is lucky, in a way, that he died so quickly, as the year he was in was all rocky terrain; a huge mountain range with deep ravines and sparse bushes. He wouldn't have been used to that. Then again, nor would I. I'm praying, desperately praying for trees, as they are all I am used to, and my climbing skills on the rock are nothing compared to the ease with which I can scale them, particularly thanks to my work collecting lumber.

I wonder at the other tributes, how they can possibly be as ready as I am. I don't ponder on the careers, as they are too ominous to consider, but the other Districts I am sure I can beat. Urban territories never do well, transport and technology, and I can't possibly see what edge Districts 8 or 12 can have, what good textiles or coal will do to them. Common sense combined with previous years of watching the games tell me that the only other District that will cause me trouble is 10. Agricultural types, raised on farms and ranches, are good at taking care of themselves and always do well. But then, even they can't have my edge with weapons, surely….

I snap into the present suddenly as a motion catches my eye, and my hand is on a knife before I can think. I stare uncomprehendingly, my heart beating, in the direction of the movement, and suddenly see it again. It's a deer. I'm sure of it. I've never actually seen one, not up close, but I know they look like the weak, emaciated horse I see before me. I consider sitting quietly, waiting for it to go, but then a peculiar feeling comes over me and suddenly it's a girl. A tall skinny girl from District 12, where they all seem to be weak and dirty; she's half hidden by a tree but she's watching me. My heart is steady as I barely move, shifting my hand from the knife to my axe. There's no time to stand without her seeing, but enough space behind me to swing my arm back. I count my heartbeats as I focus on the small space between the trees in which I can see her body, breathing slowly, my focus shrunk to just her and me and the slow pulse of my heart in my ears. Suddenly, and with as much certainty as I've ever mustered, I wrench my arm back and fling the axe. It flies through the air before she has a chance to react, piercing her flesh with a duller thud than the trees I'm used to. She cries out, stumbles and falls, and I'm on my feet in a second, staring down at the body.

The deer is twitching, dead, and my axe landed with a deadly accuracy right at the centre of her chest. It was a tough shot and I excelled. I can hear the sounds of the forest around me again, and my heart rate has quickened. Excitement, I think, at my first real kill, evidence that I can take out a living thing bigger than a rabbit or a bird. If there was ever any proof needed that I was ready for the games, this was it. I can't contain my elation as a wide grin stretches over my face. _Give me your best, Gamemakers; show me what you've got in store. I'm ready._

I'm still stood over the body, marvelling, when I hear the birds fall silent and instinct kicks in again; I tug my axe from the carcass and pin my back up against the nearest tree. I'm studying the area, looking for whatever intruder has caused the animals to fall silent, when I see it in the air above me, and my heart stills. It's a hovercraft. They're here.


	3. Chapter 3

My mind immediately shifts into action; if the hovercrafts are here then they will already be setting up for the ceremony, which means I'm late. Once the hovercraft has passed over and I am sure I am out of sight I sprint across the clearing, grab my weapons and climb the rock face. I stash them back out of sight before dropping to the ground and turning to leave the clearing and its then that I'm hit with a sudden pang of sadness. This place, the cavern, my weapons, they've been my salvation, my secret. They are the only thing in this world I can truly call mine, and now I will likely never see them again. I turn and stare up at the rocky ledge where my weapons are hidden. Nobody will find them, I imagine, if I don't come back from the arena. After years of never failing me, of perfecting my aim and killing my food and keeping me sane, they will be left for years at the mercy of the elements until they are rusted and useless.

I'm hit with a sudden urge to take them with me, to slip up the rock face and tuck just one of the knives into my boot. The feeling is so strong I actually take a step forward, but I quickly disregard it as foolish and sentimental. We will be checked for weapons before even boarding the train to the Capitol, let alone getting into the arena, and besides, there will be far better weapons there than stolen kitchen knives. Even so, I can't help but feel a dull ache in my chest as I turn away from them for the last time.

By the time I arrive back at the Community home I've already passed at least a dozen extra Peacekeepers setting up the town for the grand ceremony. Other than them the town is deserted, and I know that everyone is inside, putting on their best clothes, making themselves look good for this occasion that they are forced to celebrate. Everyone, that is, except me, and as a result I receive a sharp slap on the face as soon as I walk in the door.

"Insolent girl, leaving me with all the work. Look at you, you're a disgrace…"

I tune out the rest of Shasta's venom, waiting for her to finish as I hazard a quick glance around the room. Most of the children seem to be ready, but I can't imagine for a second it's all been her; they are too haphazardly put together, some neater than others, a distinct lack of uniformity and care to their appearance. I imagine they've helped each other whilst Shasta sat in the kitchen with her feet up, and that she is simply using this as an excuse to rant at me. Nothing new there.

"Make yourself presentable. Now." hisses Shasta finally, and I push past her and jog upstairs. Two of the younger girls are sat on a bed doing each other's hair; they glance up and disregarded me almost simultaneously, and I give them the same treatment, stalking to my bed and throwing off my boots. I dig through my bedside cabinet to find a plain grey dress and flat black shoes, the same hideous outfit I'm forced to wear every year, and change quickly before leaving the room, glancing back at the girls on the bed as I do. They too are wearing the same grey dress as me, but have dressed themselves up enough that it is somehow more attractive on them than I could ever hope to make it. I hesitate at this thought, knowing it can't hurt to look nice at the reaping. The better looking tributes are always more popular, and though I doubt it can make much difference, perhaps I should make an effort. But then, I would have no idea what to do, where to begin braiding my hair into one of the intricate efforts they have achieved. I self-consciously reach for my own effortless bun and wish, for just a second, I had somebody who cared if I looked good for the reaping. The girls glance up at me curiously and I snap back to the present, turning on my heel and leaving as fast as I can. No point dwelling on it; I can't make myself look beautiful, and I don't have anyone who can. All I have is Shasta, who barely gives me a glance as I appear at the bottom of the stairs.

"Finally. We're to go as soon as them others are down. Make sure you don't run off again."

She vanishes upstairs, leaving me to sit silently in a room of grey nobodies until the two girls from upstairs finally appear. A few of the younger girls rush over to clasp their hands and I roll my eyes, turning away as they immediately begin fussing over them. I'm always grateful that it's never fallen to me to be the mother hen of the house. It's so much easier being hated than liked. As if on cue, Shasta comes back down the stairs, and I feel an uneasy lurch at the thought that she and I may have something in common. I push the idea to the back of my mind as she snaps at us to move and we all automatically fall into line and gloomily follow her out the door.

* * *

The town square is only just big enough to house us all, and I vaguely wonder if they built it this way on purpose, to make us look like cattle being penned in for slaughter. The thought would make me laugh if I wasn't one of the cattle. After signing my name I walk along the centre of the aisle towards the back, passing by line after line of girls. Each of them looks scared, some are crying, but they are all silent, staring morosely at the ground. _Don't worry, it won't be you, _I want to tell them all, butI don't of course, silently taking my place with the other 17 year olds as I look around at the square.

I have to admit, the town looks nice. The Peacekeepers have done well with it. Normally our District is pretty dull- what with everything being made of wood it is just a sea of brown, but they have gathered small trees and saplings and bunches of wildflowers and placed them at random intervals, and a tangle of ivy surrounds the stage. The plants blend in so well you could believe they were always there, that our town always looked so welcoming. You could believe that. If you were a fool. Which, of course, the Capitol people are. This isn't fair, of course; they could be perfectly intelligent, respectable creatures, but somehow I doubt it.

This isn't all conjecture- I'm basing this on our escort, Xavier Elgood. He's been assigned to District 7 for the last half dozen or so years, and he is unfailingly cheerful, excitable and insanely stupid. I can see him on the stage now, and he is wearing the most ridiculous get up I think I've seen so far; a bright orange suit covered with what look like green bubbles and waxy, red shoes with fat, squat heels and pointy toes that curl over at the ends. I'm sure this is fashionable but they make him look like he's about to topple over. His skin is unnaturally pale, almost white, but his hair is almost normal, for him- red to match his shoes, and flat on the top combed over to elaborate, tight curls on one side. His eyes seem to be ringed in black, as they are standing out even from my distance at the back, and they keep darting in our direction, scanning the audience continuously even as he focuses his attention on the mayor, waving his arms and talking non-stop. The mayor is slumped in his seat, ignoring him. He's got to be in his eighties by now, and I've never seen him treat the games as anything other than an inconvenience. I turn away from the both of them and scan the boys' side, searching for my potential nemesis.

The young boys are slim, slender, underfed, and then from 16 onwards they are strong, athletic and manly. In District 7 you can volunteer to leave school as soon as you turn 16 and begin work in the lumbering fields, and since it is the best way to feed your family most of them do. It is mostly the men who work in the forest and the women who work in the factories, meaning that there is a vast difference between the strength of the boys and the girls- a difference reflected in our mentors, Benton and Peyton, who are currently seated on the stage in matching brown outfits. I can't figure out if this is intentional but it probably is- they like to be seen as a pair, I think, as one is rarely seen without the other. They are sat silently side by side but Benton is a towering over her, at least 6 feet high, his arms as thick as a tree branch. Peyton, in comparison, is slight and slender, almost humorously so when sat by Benton, but she is wily, and you can see by her muscular legs and arms that she is strong. I don't know how either of them won the games, and I'm struck by the notion that, since they will be mentoring me, I can ask them.

Suddenly it seems real, and my throat dries out as I glance around at the District that I may never see again. I close my eyes briefly, trying to calm my suddenly racing heartbeat, and for no reason at all Dex leaps into my head. How scared must he have been, knowing he was going to his death? And yet he didn't seem it. I mustn't seem it either. If I am to win, I will need sponsors, and they need to see that I am strong, that I can win. I open my eyes just in time to hear the Capitol music declaring that the ceremony is to begin and watch as the mayor slowly gets to his feet. He shuffles forward, the rustle of his feet echoing in the silent square as he climbs onto the podium, clears his throat and slowly begins to read. I allow myself to tune out; he always reads the same thing and I've heard it a hundred times.

He's talking about the past, the history of Panem, how the Districts came to be, and the origin of the Hunger Games. To hear him tell it, the games are a necessary deterrent, a punishment for the uprising, a lesson that rebellion will not be tolerated. What better way for the Capitol to declare how totally they are in charge of us? He can call it a punishment, a reminder, but it is clear what it is; legalised slaughter, a message broadcast over all of Panem- we will kill your children and you can't stop us. So do not try. The mayor finishes his dreary speech and then reads the list of victors. In 67 years, we have had 6. Pretty respectable, but only 3 are still alive; besides the two on the stage there's Blight, a silent, miserable looking man who I've seen a grand total of 2 times in my entire life, and both of those were before Benton's success meant he took over as mentor. Blight occupies Victor's village along with Benton and Peyton, but as rare as it is for them to leave the village, for him it's entirely unheard of. Whether he thinks he's too good for us or he holds the entirety of the games in distain I don't know, but however elusive he is, he's the final surviving victor from District 7. The remainder were long ago, before the careers began training and before victory in the games belonged almost exclusively to the higher Districts. But still, I remind myself, we are good. We can win; we have the natural talent for it, if not the training. Except I do have the training. I feel a frisson of excitement as the mayor introduces Xavier and then slumps back into his seat, and I watch as Xavier leaps up, his limbs humorously erratic, his mouth stretched into a smile so wide it almost looks as though it might slip off the sides of his face.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome welcome _welcome!" _

Xavier throws his arms open wide, as if repeating himself 5 times wasn't emphasis enough, and beams widely at the stony faced crowd. He either doesn't notice the lack of a reaction or doesn't care, his smile remaining unchanged as he clasps his hands together and warbles on in his heavily affected Capitol accent.

"What an exciting year this promises to be! A very happy Hunger Games to one and all! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

He is beaming still, but at the camera that is broadcasting him across Panem and not at the crowd, which makes it hard to take his message of encouragement seriously. Still, at least someone is enjoying themselves. As the glass bowls containing our names are wheeled out someone along the row from me chokes back a sob, and my breath catches in my throat. Somehow I never thought it would happen, that this moment would never truly arrive. I always wondered how I would feel, and I find myself wondering which girl I will volunteer for, whether her family will visit me and thank me. I realise I want them too; after all, nobody else will. Xavier's grin widens even more, if it's possible, as the bowls are set in front of him, and he actually gives a spin as he steps off the podium and scurries over to the bowl holding the names of the girls.

"And now, District 7, the moment we've all been waiting for. It's time to select which brave girl and boy will have the honour of representing our District in the games! As always, ladies first!"

Feedback squeals slightly into the silence as he lowers his hand into the bowl, making a show of swirling his hand among the tiny slips. The tension in the air is so thick I can feel it, and I know all the girls are currently willing themselves to not be picked. _Not me, please not me. Anyone but me. _I allow myself a small smile, thinking of how grateful the faceless girl will be when I volunteer, thinking of the gasps from the townspeople as they admire my bravery, but even I feel my own firsts clench at my sides as Xavier lifts the slip from the bowl. He unfolds it, his eyes dancing slightly, and lifts the microphone to his mouth, clearing his throat before he reads.

"Tyla Ravenscroft."


	4. Chapter 4

I will never volunteer for the Hunger Games. My brain feels like it's slightly out of sync, trying to catch up with a world which has started to spin around me. I had a plan. A good plan, thought out and prepared and almost perfectly executed. And now it's been pulled out from under me. I suddenly feel furious. This was my chance, to raise my hand, gracefully take my place, be someone's hero. And now I will never get that chance. It's been stolen from me. I will never know the admiration of the townspeople; never know how it feels to be called a hero. Because I have been chosen.

I can feel gazes on me, people turning to look at me, and I feel a ridiculous stab of anger. _So you do know who I am_, I think. _You do know me, though you never spoke a word to me._ But why am I angry for that? I wanted to be left alone. I'm not angry, I realise; I'm scared. I am scared to death and I can handle anger a hell of a lot better than fear. I swallow slowly and allow my gaze to lift. Xavier is scanning the crowd expectantly, his smile frozen on his face.

"Tyla Ravenscroft. Where are you my dear?"

I swallow hard and steel myself. I can do this. I have to. Because now, I have no choice. I lift my chin and walk forward- not out into the gangway down the middle, but forward, right through the crowd of girls. They step back out of my way as I walk, parting a sea of people as I march towards the stage. The camera is trained on me and I keep my eyes forward, focused on the platform ahead of me. I can see Xavier's face; he looks conflicted, and I know why. This will look great, he's thinking, on camera- this will really make us stand out. But he's also thinking- is this against the rules? I don't care. This may be the last time I walk across this square, and I want it to count. I reach the stage and Xavier beams down, holding out his hand.

"Wonderful! Up you come, Tyla!"

It feels weird, him addressing me by my first name like that- he is one of only a handful of people to ever do so, despite the fact that we are yet to meet. I ignore his hand and walk past him to the centre of the stage, turning to face the crowd. I can see relief on every female face, and I can't help but despise them, even though I know it is relief that they will live, not that I will die. Xavier trots up beside me, flashing his wide smile- he's obviously forgiven me for ignoring his hand.

"Tyla Ravenscroft! Congratulations my darling, you are this year's female tribute! How do you feel?"

He holds the microphone towards my face, and I stare at him. How do I feel? Really? He must still be thrown by my entrance, or there's no way he would ask that with the world watching. The question is so ridiculous that I still haven't formed a response when I open my mouth, and so I answer the only way I can think of. I laugh. My laughter echoes around the silent square, and for a moment Xavier looks taken aback, but he recovers quickly, laughing too as he claps me on the back and turns to face the audience.

"Marvellous! Marvellous marvellous marvellous! So we have our girl, District 7! Let's choose our boy!"

He totters back to his bowl and continues with his performance, but I'm not looking at him. I'm not looking at anything. I'm keeping my eyes forward, but my brain is elsewhere. I feel as if I'm asleep, that any moment I will wake up back in the Community home. After all the years, all those times putting my name in, I never quite thought I would be drawn. It wasn't meant to go that way. I've almost convinced myself that I did volunteer, that my name wasn't drawn at all, when I'm interrupted by the drawing of the male name.

"Nico Carraway."

I've never heard of him. There's a stirring in the crowd, and I know he's moving forward, but I can't bring myself to look down. At the moment, he is still a faceless creature, an animal to hunt, but as soon as I look at him this will all become real. He climbs the stage to stand beside me and Xavier prances about in front of us, rambling about honour and bravery. I had always considered myself brave, but I was wrong. Right now all I want is to be back in my clearing, when this was just something I would do at an unspecified point in the future. But it's too late for that now. Time's up.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the tributes from District 7, Tyla Ravenscroft and Nico Carraway! Shake hands tributes!"

Xavier steps back and I finally get a look at my nemesis. I vaguely recognize him- he's a year younger than me, but still at school. I think he's the son of one of the carpenters, which means he probably hasn't signed up for any tesserae; he was only in the bowl 5 times most likely, the least he could have been. Tough odds. He is slight but tall, and though he's thin he has defined arms and shoulders. He's a reasonable tribute, but he's no match for me. My chest leaps a little as I realise I'm already sizing him up, how quickly I have adapted to my role as a hunter, and wonder if I should feel bad about it as the fear in his wide, bright blue eyes tells me he isn't doing the same.

He steps forward and extends his hand, and I shake it- it's sweaty, and he has the weakest grip I've ever felt. He doesn't stand a chance. He pulls his hand back quickly and runs it through his sandy blonde hair, giving away the extent to which he is shaking, and seeing his abject fear actually makes me feel better. At least I'm prepared. We stand back to face the crowd as the Panem anthem plays, and then there is silence, the cameras lower and my arm is gripped by a peacekeeper as I'm herded into the justice building.

I'm shepherded down a hallway and through a door which is bolted behind me, leaving me alone in a large, empty room. The floor is laid with thick, luxuriant rugs, and the furniture is covered in some sort of thick plush fabric. I sink into a chair and place my hands on the arms, and they don't reach the end. Everything in here is so big. I glance around, examining everything from the curtains to the tiny glass droplets on the light shades. My heartbeat has dropped and my breathing is steady, making me feel more like me again; there's an undercurrent of fear, tension, that wasn't there before, but I'm feeling better.

I feel a brief stab of sympathy for Nico. He's from a comfortable home, with a family to say goodbye too and no idea what to expect. At least I have training, and nothing to lose, nobody to miss. Nobody to say goodbye to. The thought makes me angry again. I was supposed to volunteer. I was supposed to be a hero, not a victim. I was supposed to be receiving grateful visits from the family of the saved tribute. Who will I receive now? _Nobody_, I think bitterly. Nobody will come and see a Community girl.

I restlessly drum my fingers on the arms of the chair and then leap to my feet, unable to stand still. I pace the floor, examining everything I can lay my eyes upon, anything to fill the space that should be filled with visitors and distract me from the truth; that nobody is bothered to see me go. I let out a deep sigh and turn and lean my hands against the fireplace. As I do so, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I can't help but stop and look. There were no mirrors in the Community home other than one or two hand mirrors, and none at all in the city, so it is rare for me to catch sight of my reflection. I expect to look different from when I last saw myself, but I don't; I look the same as ever. It surprises me, and I tilt my head to my reflection. Same bright blue eyes, angular face, my red hair unkempt as always, skin tanned from hours of working outdoors. I don't look like a girl about to go to her death; I look like I could be heading off for work, or to school. Like all the other girls out there will be tomorrow. Not me. I'll be in the Capitol. For the first time, I feel truly glad that it's me that's going, even if it was beyond my control; at least I am an easy sacrifice, a tribute that will not be missed. I think of all the other girls, going back to their grateful families, think of Nico's family losing him, and realise that maybe, being truly alone in the world is a good thing.

I lean forward to examine my reflection closely, try and imagine that my parents are here, that they've come to see me off. I have no idea what they look like, only that my mother's hair was red, like mine, but from this I've managed to build up an image of their faces in my head. I try not to do it often, as it's a useless sentimental indulgence that blackens my mood if I dwell on it for too long. As if on cue, I begin blinking in horror as I feel tears threaten to prick into my eyes. I never cry. I can't, especially not now. Instead I focus on the fact that, however tragic a figure I appear with nobody to see me off, at least I do not have to put up with the pain of a long, emotional goodbye. I convince myself this makes me lucky as I take a few deep breaths, steeling myself, and then lower myself back on the chair to wait out my remaining allotted time. As I had imagined, I have no visitors.

* * *

By the time the Peacekeepers return to take me away, any potential for tears has long gone. I'm glad. I don't want to show any signs of weakness; I want to appear as strong as I possibly can. As we arrive at the station I can see that it's filled with cameras, and I immediately lift my chin high, walking across the platform. As I reach the train door I see Nico, and he looks a wreck, his eyes red from crying. I want to tell him to pull himself together, act like a winner even if he isn't one, but I say nothing, simply stand beside him in the train door for a moment to allow the cameras to watch our departure before we are ushered inside.

As the train doors close behind us the train is instantly so silent that it's like being sucked into a vacuum. In fact, the silence is so overwhelming that I've been seated for a few minutes before I even realise that we are even moving. It takes me aback, the speed at which the landscape is flying past when we don't feel like we are moving at all. I rise from my seat and stand at the window, trying to catch a last glimpse of the District, perhaps pick out the vague location of my training ground in the forest, but it's hopeless. All I see is trees, for miles around, with no way of telling if I may have climbed them or flung a spear from them.

After a few moments I give up, and turn to see Nico watching me with blatant curiosity, so I hold his gaze as I sit back down. We look at each other for a while, and I wonder if I should say something, but there's nothing to say, so instead I turn away and begin to examine the train. It's as opulent as I can imagine the Capitol being, with glass and silver and deep, rich wood adorning every surface, and I want to touch everything, examine everything I can see. There's a silver bowl on the table between us, and I'm suddenly curious what might be in it. I'm about to reach for it when the door slides open and Xavier glides into the room. He's added a long, silver coat on top of his outfit, and it sparkles so much it's actually difficult to look right at him as he flings himself onto the chair between Nico and I, turning his head to beam at us both.

"Well. Well well well."

It's funny, I had never noticed he had a habit of repeating words so many times. I can't figure out if this is because I've never really cared before, or because he has recently adopted it as a trait. I'm told Capitol people do this sometimes; trends, apparently, are very important. He drums his long, golden fingernails on the arms of the chair and then swings his head to look at me.

"You, young lady, made quite the entrance. I imagine everyone in the Capitol will be talking about it."

If this is true, it's a good thing. Being talked about means being noticed, and that means sponsors. He runs his gaze up and down me and nods his approval.

"You need a good scrub, but we can get you looking absolutely fabulous, I'm sure of it. A potential winner."

I'm sure it's his job to encourage me, boost my confidence, but I still can't help but feel comforted by his words, as fake as I imagine them to be. He turns his head to Nico and gives him the same appraisal.

"You're handsome, definitely handsome. I imagine you'll be turning a few heads. That's excellent. The most promising pair I've had in years."

Nico is good looking, but I wouldn't say he was handsome- however, like me, he has visibly brightened at Xavier's words, and I look back at Xavier, suddenly wondering if he's smarter than I've been giving him credit for. He turns to look at each of us again, beaming, and then claps his hands.

"Excellent. Good looking tributes are always a plus. Remember, we are one of the most promising Districts, so we may truly stand a chance. Listen to your mentors, your stylists, listen to me, and you may emerge victorious."

_One of you may emerge victorious._ He hasn't said it but it's there, hanging in the air as Nico clears his throat.

"When do we speak to the mentors?" he asks, and Xavier beams.

"Whenever you feel in need of mentoring, dear boy. But for now, I think it is best I show you to your rooms so you can prepare for supper."

He rises and we automatically do the same; despite his ridiculous appearance, he does have an air of authority that it's hard to ignore. I can see why he was picked for us now- I've always puzzled as to why, as one of the better Districts, we were given such an airheaded escort, but he seems to have something going on behind the sheen he presents to the cameras.

I am shown to my room, told that "everything in here is yours, darling, everything everything everything!" and then left to prepare for dinner. Instead, I sink onto my bed and look around. The room is perfect, but it's hard to care; it could just as well be a coffin. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my mind on Nico as I try and figure out if I remember him at all. I run through sparse images of the other kids from school, but have no luck placing him beyond a mild recognition. Instead another boy enters mind, one who always stood out above the others. Darin. He was a year older than me, the son of a labourer, and I often saw him helping his father to drag the wood from the gatherers in the forest. He was strong and tall, and handsome. All the girls loved him, and though I told myself this I couldn't help but love him too. He had slightly too long, dark brown hair, a wide smile and wicked green eyes, and every once in a while I would be looking at him, he would catch my eye, and I thought for a moment I could see something there, a connection of sorts. But of course I was wrong. I'm a Community kid. I don't speak to beautiful boys, and they don't speak to me. My eyes snap open suddenly. It's no use thinking like this, thinking of the District. It will convince me that I miss it, that I miss him, and I don't; that was years ago. I've toughened up since then, realised I don't need a boy; I didn't need anyone to like me. I just need myself.

I straighten up, pulling my dress over my head and discarding all my clothes until I am naked, and then storm into the bathroom, stopping when I see the mirror. As curious as it was to see my face before, this is even stranger: I have never actually seen my body in full length before. I turn to face the mirror and slowly examine myself. I am not as thin as any of the girls in the town, that is for sure. Years of eating wild in the woods have left me muscular and strong, with enough pounds on me to make the difference between living and dying. I flex my arms and watch in fascination as my muscles leap out, turning my head to look at my shoulders, my back, my legs. My body looks like it is made of pure muscle, and I look strong and able. I do not look like a girl from District 7, like a weakling, a loser; I look, I realise, like a career. Like a champion. Still transfixed by my reflection, I reach up and comb through my hair with my fingers, slowly pulling out the knots of my tangled bun and discarding the plain elastics as I do. I have no need of them now. The next time the cameras see me I will have been in the hands of the Capitol stylists, and I shall likely never look like myself again.

The thought of arriving at the Capitol pulls me from my reverie and I turn away from the mirror and step into the shower. It takes me a few moments to figure out the sleek black panel covered in buttons, but eventually I get it going and gasp as a blast of water hits me from nowhere. It is deliciously hot, a miracle in itself as the showers I am used to are icy cold, even in summer, and I can't recall the last time I had a shower that was even approaching on warm. I stand under the running water, staring blankly at the serenely beautiful tiling that adorns the walls, idly thinking that more effort has gone into creating this bathroom than the whole of the Community house. This sends my thoughts back to the District, and I wait for an emotion to hit me- sadness, longing, anger, fear even, but nothing comes. This is likely because I feel as much at home here, in this small clinical box, as I ever did in the Community home. I remember the reasons for all the years of training, the reason I wanted to leave, and I suddenly feel a flood of relief. It may not be the way I planned, but I've done it; I've left, and I never need to go to the home again. The thought sends a warm tingle right through my body and I grab randomly at bottle of thick golden liquid from the elaborate rack on the wall, determined to wash every last bit of District 7 from my body and emerge from the shower not as a Community kid but as a tribute. I scrub at my skin with my nails until it is raw, and I eventually admit there is nothing more I can do without drawing blood, emerging from the shower the cleanest I've ever been and smearing some sort of heavenly smelling white cream over my skin.

I feel 100% improved as I head back into the bedroom, disregarding my grey dress in favour of a plain black vest and trousers I've found in one of the drawers. I've timed it perfectly, as I am just tugging a pair of plain black boots onto my feet when there is a sharp rap at the door and Xavier's musical voice tells me its supper time.


	5. Chapter 5

I've never seen so much food in my life. At least, I'm assuming it's all food. Most of it is so strange, so colourful, and so unbelievably elaborate that it's hard to reconcile with the sullen grey gloop or wild meat I usually eat. My eyes scan the table, barely able to take it all in, and as I turn my head towards a particularly spectacular looking dish the smell catches in my nostrils, making my stomach clench in anticipation. I instantly decide never to leave this table; I'm going to sit here and eat until I'm about to be sick, then I'm going to wait until my stomach has recovered and eat some more. I'm not going anywhere until this table is empty and my stomach is unnaturally full.

Xavier and Nico are still hovering in the doorway behind me, but all thoughts of waiting to be seated are banished from my head as I fling myself into the nearest chair, my hands already reaching for the closest dish. It's some sort of thickly sliced pink meat, glazed and shining and dotted with tiny crisp cubes of potato. I transfer a generous portion onto my plate and move onto the next dish, fine white strings of something indistinguishable in a rich red sauce. I have no idea what it is, what it could even taste like, but I heap some onto my plate regardless and move on, and it's only when at least half a dozen dishes are piled high on my plate that I begin to eat.

It's completely delicious. Each food is like nothing I've ever tasted before- rich, mild, sweet, salty, fruity or spicy, but each perfectly balanced to make the dish as perfect as it could be, and so delectable I can't get enough, shovelling it into my mouth like there is an imminent threat of someone snatching it from my hands. I've been eating for several minutes when I hear a deep voice from somewhere over my left shoulder.

"You want to be careful, you'll be sick if you keep eating like that."

"That's the plan." I respond, not even turning my head as I take a big bite out of a roll that's still warm and sprinkled with seeds and cheese. There's a deep chuckle, and I hear movement as the owner of this voice slides into the seat to my left. I know who it is without looking, and sure enough as I turn my head my gaze is met by the amused eyes of my mentor, Benton Coskley.

Being this close to him makes me realise just how inaccurate Xavier's assessment of Nico as handsome was; Nico pales into nothingness when compared with the perfect vision I see in front of me. It's hard to put your finger on exactly what it is that makes the same features everyone has fall into perfect alignment and make someone attractive, but whatever it is I am looking at a shining example. A strong jaw line, tanned skin, a wide, confident smile which can turn from friendly to seductive at the wink of an eye. Soft brown hair, the colour of a tree just stripped of its bark, emerald eyes that twinkle with charisma and humour, and all this combined with a labourer's build of broad shoulders, a narrow waist and strong arms, a body built of nothing but pure muscle. Up close, it's even easier to see why my mentor is one of the more memorable victors of the games.

I was only 8 when he won, and I remember nothing of the games themselves, but even I recall the adoration that was heaped on him by the Capitol, how the people of Panem adored him. He was a legacy; the charming, handsome winner with whom everyone fell madly in love. Every year he was the face that the people wanted to see, the most popular of all the previous winners, and this was a crown he wore until the games just two years ago and the arrival of Finnick Odair. The popularity of this perfect faced, olive skinned boy from District 4 vastly eclipsed that of Benton, and literally overnight the hearts of the people of Panem had switched their allegiance to the new victor.

I wonder briefly if Benton is bothered by losing his position as the favourite. It seems like he should be, but at the same time he has never seemed to embrace his heartthrob status. There was an outlandish party in the District when he returned victorious, and the streets were lined with screaming, weeping girls, all of whom were desperate for him to notice them, to fall madly in love with them. Many of these girls were quite beautiful, but Benton never paid them the slightest bit of attention. He had been popular with the girls before he had left, but since his return it was like a shutter had closed- his lack of interest was obvious, and to many it was devastating. It was concurred that now that he was a victor he had his choice of beautiful women in the Capitol, that District girls were just not good enough for him anymore, but I never felt this was the case. His withdrawal was so sudden, his self-imposed exile so severe, that it seemed to me that more than a self-important lack of interest must be the cause of it. Despite the envy I am sure the people of Panem must have felt with us having him actually live in our District, he is rarely seen, choosing to spend all his time alone in victor's village with Peyton, venturing out infrequently to deliver food and firewood to the poor and dying. The best chance you have of spending any time with Benton Coskley is to become a tribute, but I am sure none of his admirers would choose to trade places with me at this moment.

I shift my gaze away from Benton and back to the table, and am reaching for a bowl of what looks like heavily seasoned chunks of fish when he reaches out and pins my hand to the table with one his own.

"If the plan is to eat yourself sick you may wish to rethink it. I'm all for you gaining a few pre-game pounds, but you need to ease up a little, give yourself time to get used to it, or your body will just reject it and you'll end up no better than when you started."

I look at him in surprise and slowly stop chewing my bread. My instinct is to obstinately ignore him and continue with my plan to ingest the entire contents of the table, but then he is my mentor, and logic tells me he would only give me advice worth following. As if on cue my stomach gives a protesting gurgle and I admit defeat, dropping the remainder of the roll onto my plate. Benton releases my hand and sits back, and I too lean back in my seat, allowing my stomach to relax as I finally survey my dinner companions.

Seated to Benton's left, at the head of the table, is Xavier. He is calmly and delicately sipping soup from a small spoon, and though he does not look impressed with my eating habits, I get the impression he has seen it all before. To his left is Nico, who is barely eating, picking at a single piece of fruit with a sullen look on his face, either too scared or too stubborn to eat anything more. _Fool_, I want to say. _Build up your strength whilst you still have the chance_. He must be from a reasonably well-fed household, or he would be wolfing at his food the way I was. Still, that's given me another edge; at least I will know how to deal with hunger.

Finally, seated directly opposite to me to Nico's left is Peyton. I didn't even hear her come in, but this is unsurprising - she has a habit of making herself inconspicuous. She is not eating, but instead watching me with an unreadable expression, and as soon as I realise this I hold my gaze with hers and we watch each other unblinkingly. She looks unaffected by my gaze, and since I can't say the same I'm soon longing for someone to break the silence. I've finally admitted defeat and am opening my mouth to do it myself when Benton clears his throat noisily, reaches past me and grabs a handful of bread rolls, his arm breaking my gaze. I drop my head in relief and then look at him as he sits back in his chair, breaks off a piece of bread and chews on it, looking from me to Nico and back again.

"So let's start with the obvious. It's very likely that you will die."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. So Xavier builds us up and then the mentors knock us down. It has to be said, I don't think much of their strategy. I glance at Xavier, who's focus is still in his soup, and then at Nico, who has disregarded the fruit entirely now, his shoulders slumped in resignation. I shift my eyes onto Peyton, who is still watching me, unmoved, and feel my temper flare.

"Thanks for the advice, mentor. Got any more pearls of wisdom for us?"

My words are directed at Benton but my gaze is still on Peyton, and after a moment she raises a single eyebrow in a perfect arch.

"You disagree then?" she asks, her voice soft and yet hard at the same time, and I open my mouth to respond but am at a loss as to what to say. Because, of course, she is right. They both are. In the position I am in, only a fool would deny the likelihood of their imminent death. Not willing to admit this, but unable to contradict it, I close my mouth sullenly and Peyton twists her own mouth into what might be a smile, silent acknowledgment of my acquiescence. She leans forward suddenly, clasping her hands together on the table and looking me dead in the eye.

"The fact is, you _are_ being sent to your death. Both of you," she adds, turning her gaze to Nico who is still staring sullenly at his lap. "And if you forget that, or if you fear it, your death will be even swifter."

"We're not supposed to fear being sent to our deaths?" I ask incredulously, and she turns back to me.

"You must accept this fear and then forget it. Simply attempting to avoid death will get you nowhere; you are not just fighting for survival; you are fighting to be the _only_ survivor. Only half of your goal is to live, the rest of it is to kill; as long as the others stay alive, there is a higher chance that you will not, and if you are to have any chance of surviving, this must always be at the forefront of your mind."

I blink slightly, looking at this lean, unremarkable woman with a new measure of respect, and I'm suddenly eager to know how she won her own games. I'm about to ask when, for the first time, Nico's voice cuts across the table.

"So how do we do that? Survive?"

Benton laughs dryly and tosses a toll at him. "Start by following the lead of your District partner and eat something, while you still have the chance."

I can't help but feel a tug of pride at his words, and am just deciding that my stomach has recovered enough to eat some more when Xavier clears his throat, puts down his spoon and delicately taps his lips with a neatly folded white handkerchief. Given that there is no food on his face whatsoever this seems an utterly pointless action, and I wonder if he has done it to highlight Benton's lack of manners in throwing the roll, or even my own total lack of propriety in the manner in which I ate my food. If this is the case, however, he doesn't say; he simply folds his napkin neatly onto the table and beams his wide, Capitol smile at us all.

"If you do plan on eating anything further, you'll have to bring it through. The recap of the reaping is about to begin, and it is certainly one thing you do _not_ want to miss!"

He says it like it's the next exciting instalment of a must watch TV show, which of course for the population of the Capitol is what this is, but for us there is a far more important reason we do not want to miss the reaping- it is our first chance at seeing the competition, the other tributes, the people who, in a matter of days, will be fighting to kill us before we kill them.

* * *

Unsurprisingly Xavier's timing is nothing less than perfect, as the final notes of the opening anthem are ringing from the television in the next compartment as we take our seats around it. The now legendary voice of Claudius Templesmith rings out, and the camera is just panning in over District 1 when a thought occurs to me and I begin scanning the room.

"Looking for something Tyla?" Xavier trills sunnily and I nod.

"Is there a pen anywhere? And some paper?"

Nico looks at me curiously, but Xavier merely rings a bell and moments later I am clutching a plain black notepad and pen. I open the first page and divide it into 3 columns, listing the District numbers down the middle and then writing 'Male' and 'Female' atop each side column, ready to single out who to keep my eyes on during training. District 1 brings the first batch of careers, and since they will be my fiercest competition my eyes are glued to the screen.

First up is a girl named Angel, and I can't help but wonder if she changed her name to match her Angelic appearance. She is very tall with a lean, strong body, long, almost white blonde hair and perfect, pale features, but her blue eyes are cold and steely. The boy tribute, Onyx, is equally threatening, with close cut black hair and a body that looks like it has been carved from steel. District 2 brings more careers in the shape of Vita, a girl of similar build to me but with short, black hair and a menacing expression, and Leon, another boy built like a man with a smile that tells me he can't wait to get thrown into the arena. The District 3 lot are somewhat unremarkable, both reasonably young and scared looking, but the tributes from District 4 complete the set of careers and disappointingly match up with the others- there's Orla, a short but stocky brunette with a thin, cruel mouth, and Jaden, a plain faced boy with close cropped brown curls and a swimmers build. The remainder of the tributes seem to be nothing in comparison with the ominous careers, but I take careful note of them anyway. There are a few who stand out as potential dangers and I mark their names with a star- Jasper, a vicious looking boy from District 5, Lisbeth, a lean girl with a determined glint in her eye from District 9, a broad shouldered, handsome, dark-haired boy from District 10 named Caleb. Both the tributes from District 11 catch my eye- a small but severe looking girl named Jaya and a massive, sullen, brooding hulk of a boy named Kirin, and surprisingly District 12 has a promising looking tribute in the form of Asha, a wiry looking girl with a look in her eyes that tells me she won't go down without a fight.

As the anthem signals the end of the Reaping I run my pen down my page and count the stars. Including the careers there are 12, which is more than I was hoping for; I had always had the careers in my head as the only ones to look out for, but this year's haul has me thinking I may have my work cut out for me. As the anthem ends, Xavier flicks the screen to blackness and turns to us, beaming.

"Well well well! I think we came of quite marvellously! Quite the entrance you made there young lady! I shan't be surprised if District 7 is the talk of the Capitol!"

He might not be surprised but I think I would be. Even though I'm willing to admit my entrance was memorable, it's highly unlikely that any of the Capitol people are have picked any favourites this early; the only thing you can really tell from the Reaping is who looks like they have no chance. Still, making any sort of impression is better than making no impression at all, which seems to be what Nico has done; in fact, I've only just noticed he's not even in the room anymore.

"He left around about District 9." remarks Benton, watching me in amusement, and I raise my eyebrows. "He left? Why?"

Benton shrugs. "He didn't look like he was finding it quite as compelling viewing as you were."

I glance down at my list and frown slightly. "Is he not interested in seeing the competition?"

"Not as interested as you, apparently."

Benton's eyes are on my list, and I close the notebook and stare him down.

"I'm preparing myself. If Nico had any sense, he would to."

Benton holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I didn't say it was a bad thing. I'm all for preparation, it's just not the norm for a tribute to take to it quite as fast as you have."

I glance at Peyton, who is silently watching me again, and quickly stand up.

"I'm just taking it seriously. I don't see what's wrong with that." I say defensively, and Benton shrugs.

"Didn't say there was anything wrong with it. In fact, it's nice to have a dedicated tribute for once. Maybe we'll actually have a winner this year."

I lock eyes with Benton and nod. "There's no maybe about it." I reply determinedly, before leaving the room without a backwards glance. I reach my compartment and close the door firmly behind me, sinking onto my bed to consult my list. The truth is, I'm not quite as confident as I've made out to Benton. Seeing the reaping has given me a knock, reminded me that it's not just my own strength I need to worry about but everyone else's. I lie back as I scan the names, committing them to memory as best I can, trying to recall their faces in as vivid detail as possible and paying special attention to the careers. I'm not sure how long I do this for, but its pitch black outside and the train is silent when I finally admit defeat, place the paper on the nightstand, strip down, turn off the lights and slip under the covers. Like everything else on the train, the bed is luxurious; warm, soft and definitely the most comfortable thing I've ever slept on. Despite this, however, I find I am unable to sleep, and I simply stare out of the window and watch the moon glow in the distance as the train hums along in silence.

All day I've been able to keep my mind occupied, keep myself busy, but the dark and the silence betray me and for the first time I find myself considering the reality of the situation in which I currently find myself. I will my brain to switch off, shut down, let me rest, but thoughts keep tumbling into my mind. Thoughts I don't want. That I could die, soon, that in just days my life could be over. Perhaps seeing the faces of the tributes, and in doing so knowing I have seen the face of my killer, has finally caused me to recognize reality, to acknowledge that these moments are ticking down to my last. I can't stop the images of the tributes running through my head, and I find myself imagining how my death might finally occur, and at who's hands. I picture the malicious look on the face of the boy from District 11 as he plunges a knife through my chest, the determined smile from Vita as she hurls a spear towards me. Over and over these images pour unbidden into my brain, and by the time I do eventually slip into an uneasy sleep I've seen my death pass beneath my eyelids in a hundred different ways.


	6. Chapter 6

Barely a moment seems to have passed when there is a sharp rap on the door, and I am dragged from sleep by the unfeasibly cheery voice of Xavier.

"Come along, up up up!" he sings through the door. "Today is a big, big day!"

Despite my disbelief that it can possibly be morning already I open my eyes reluctantly, and sure enough the sun is streaming in through the window. We are speeding along so fast it is almost impossible to see anything, but I can make out cliffs ahead, and I know we must be nearing the Capitol. The thought of it sends a sharp stab through my stomach, and I am unsure whether to assign it to fear or excitement, so I don't try. Instead I slip out of bed, not bothering to shower as it seems unnecessary since I still feel unnaturally clean, and tug on the exact same clothes I was wearing yesterday, since there's nothing wrong with them either.

The food carriage is still empty when I arrive but the food is already laid out, the opulence matching the relative banquet of yesterday's dinner, and I once again throw myself into what is now my chair and begin piling up my plate. Heeding the words of Benton I take significantly less than yesterday, but a lifetime of going about my day with hunger biting at my insides means I can't stop myself from shovelling it in at the same speed as before.

I eat alone for a while until I am joined by Nico. He looks no better than he did yesterday, and his puffy red face tells me he has been crying, but he does at least pile his plate high as Benton suggested. It is funny how easily we have both slipped into the role of obedient tribute, following the directions of our mentors without question. Nico and I do not acknowledge each other, and the room is silent until Xavier breezes in through the door, swings into his chair and smiles around at us approvingly.

"Excellent, excellent, excellent. Eat as much as you can, today will require all your energy!"

As far as I can tell from years of watching the games, all that will be required of us today is to be decorated in ridiculous outfits and wave from chariots for twenty minutes. I don't see how that can possibly require energy, particularly compared with the days in the arena which loom so ominously ahead of us, and I am about to say as much when Xavier's head suddenly shoots up and he stares at me accusingly, eyes narrowed.

"Tyla! My dear girl, did you not think it necessary to shower this morning?"

I stare at him in amazement, unable to comprehend how he can possibly have noticed. He raises his eyebrows at me expectantly, waiting for an answer, and I attempt to speak.

"I...I didn't think..."

I'm still so dumbfounded that he was able to notice that I can't form a coherent sentence, but fortunately I don't have to as at that moment Benton swings into the seat beside me and reaches across for a roll.

"Oh come on Xave, who cares really? Not all of the Districts are as focused on obsessive cleanliness as the Capitol are. Besides..." he adds, ducking his head towards me, "She smells just fine to me."

Xavier purses his lips and looks away, and I feel myself blush profusely, though I'm not sure why. I duck my head quickly, but Benton's chuckle tells me he has noticed.

"I don't care of course, the tributes are allowed to do as they please." Xavier sniffs, clearly lying through his teeth. "But it may do you well to clean up as best you can before we reach the Capitol, my dear, or you'll simply have to spend far longer with your prep team."

My head jerks up at this, my blushes forgotten. "Prep team? What do they do?"

Benton gives a dry laugh that rumbles from somewhere deep in his throat.

"What don't they do? They scrub and polish and brush and paint and pluck out every hair from your body." I turn to look at him as he leans toward me conspiratorially. "It's the job of the prep team to make you look absolutely _fabulous_."

I frown slightly. "Right. For the opening ceremony?" I ask, and he rolls his eyes.

"For the ceremony, the interviews, the games, every second of everyday..." He trails off and raises his eyebrows. "Learn to love your prep team. Trust me."

Looking perfect every second of everyday? That seems utterly pointless. Back at the District, looking good would be the last thing on my mind. I would be far too busy trying not to starve to give any consideration to my reflection, and whilst I understand the tradition of dressing up for the chariots, if it was up to me I would not spend any further time on something as useless as how I looked. But then, it's not up to me. Not anymore. The right to make my own decisions was taken from me at the moment my name was taken from that bowl. I am the property of the Capitol now, to do with as they please, and if they choose to dress me up and parade me about then I can do nothing but obey.

"So they'll dress me then?" I ask. "Choose my outfit for the ceremony?"

Truth be told, this is the thing I am most nervous about. Tributes from our District have spent year after year being dressed in ridiculous tree costumes, and whilst I do not mind being made to kill, being made to look foolish is another thing entirely.

Benton shakes his head and I wait for him to swallow. "Unfortunately not. That wonderful honour belongs to your stylists"

As much as I am fiercely dreading the prep team, his tone suggests that my stylists will be even worse, and I motion for him to continue as he rolls his eyes.

"They're in charge of your 'look', so basically your appearance over the next week is going to be entirely down to them." He shakes his head and sighs.

"It's as bad as it sounds, I'm afraid, but trust me, the only thing to do is keep quiet and go along with whatever they request. They tend to take this rather seriously, and the more 'potential' they think you have, the more 'fabulous' they'll make you look."

An ugly scowl has crossed over his face and I can tell he's speaking from experience. I try to recall what he wore at his own ceremony, but I have no recollection of his games other than his triumphant return, and I certainly don't remember what he was wearing. From his expression, though, it seems like I will find the whole experience as objectionable as I am imagining.

"The stylists, they just _adored_ Benton."

Peyton's mocking voice cuts across the table, making me jump, as she has once again arrived without my noticing. She's almost scarily good at it, and I make a mental note to watch out for her next time. I turn to look at her, and she is smirking across at Benton as he pulls a face at her and bites into his roll.

"They were just beside themselves with glee. They spent the entirety of the games boasting about how handsome their tribute was, how he looked wonderful in anything they put him in. It was like watching them play with their own little dress up doll."

Benton scowls at Peyton, who is still grinning in amusement, and I can't help but smile at the idea of a group of excitable Capitol residents prancing around him as he stands there making the exact same face he is now.

"You can smile all you like, but don't think you won't get the same treatment," Benton mutters to me, but I carry on smiling; I know I can look decent enough, but I also know I will not cause the same level of joy to my stylists that Benton did, making it possible that my experience will be far more bearable than his. I turn back to Peyton and lean towards her.

"So they'll assign me a look, then? What kind of thing will that entail?"

Peyton shakes her head at me, sitting back and folding her arms. "Don't ask me, I'm only good for advice on the games. Benton is the real expert on handling the Capitol."

I turn back to Benton and he shrugs. "All I can say is whatever they want you to do, go with it. Accept that it's out of your hands and just put up with whatever they throw at you; you can't do anything else."

We lapse into silence, and my mind begins to fill with images of previous tribute costumes. I've paid little attention to these, figuring the games were the important part, but suddenly I am struck with fleeting memories of people from our District dressed in ridiculous brown and green tree outfits, or sometimes dressed in what seemed like nothing at all, and I feel a sick twisting in my stomach. It must show on my face, as Xavier leans towards me and smiles encouragingly.

"Don't worry darling. Renic is one of the very best, been with us for years. He will make you look unforgettable."

_That's what I'm worried about,_ I think to myself, casting a glance over at Nico to see if he is as troubled by the prospect of being 'unforgettable' as I am. I am surprised to see that he's staring past me, over my shoulder, but as soon as I turn my head I see what he is looking at. Though the wide train window behind me, coming rapidly into view as the train speeds towards it, is the Capitol. We're here.

My breakfast is instantly forgotten as I make my way across to the window, curious despite myself to catch my first glimpse. I've seen flashes of it on the television, but nothing prepares me for the breathtaking magnitude of the Capitol. Spectacular, towering, sleek silver buildings circle an eerily still lake, monuments, fountains and decorative plants scattered almost like jewellery over its perfect surface. Nico and I stand side by side and stare, unable to take in the magnitude of what we are seeing, and I hear movement as someone moves to stand behind us.

"Spectacular is it not? A real testament to the power and glory of the Capitol" remarks Xavier proudly. "How lucky you are, to be able to witness it first-hand!"

Lucky. That's what we are. The lucky tributes from the outer Districts who are allowed a few days to witness the splendour of the Capitol before we are sent to out violent deaths. I glance at Xavier to see if he is joking, but he is beaming proudly over my head, not a hint of irony in his expression, so I look instead at Nico. He looks as incredulous as I am; I raise my eyebrows at him and he shakes his head in disbelief. I can't believe for a moment that Xavier can truly consider any part of our situation lucky. Perhaps his love for the Capitol is such that he believes any opportunity to see it should be celebrated. Perhaps he thinks all the Districts consider this as great an honour as the careers do. Perhaps he finds our own District so disdainful that he considers even a few days in the Capitol, however brief they may be, as a vast improvement. It can't be denied that the Capitol is breathtakingly majestic, and of course my intent had always been to spend the last few days of my life here, but Nico must be finding Xavier's words a bitter pill to swallow.

I am craning my neck to catch a glimpse of a spectacular, bright white building in the distance when suddenly the view vanishes and we are cut brutally into darkness. I look up in surprise at the dark windows, and turn my head for an explanation.

"The station," Benton clarifies, and just as the words are out of his mouth the brightness returns and I hear a strange, muffled buzzing. I turn my head back to the widow and my stomach gives a dive. We have pulled into an artificially lit chamber which resembles in no way the stark, bare wooden platforms of the station back at the District, but that is not what has caused my stomach to turn. Every conceivable scrap of space is filled by the people of the Capitol, though most are so obscure in their appearance that they could easily be creatures from another planet. I'm so startled I take a step back, and as they see us they swarm towards the window, waving, screaming, their hands stretching out towards us. I back away further and turn to look at my mentors.

"What do I do?"

They look at each other and then at me and Nico, their faces blank.

"We don't have a strategy for you yet." Benton says, his gaze darting from me to the widow, and I stare at them, frozen, until Peyton finally speaks.

"Just wave. Smile. Whatever happens, it can't hurt for them to think you like them."

I nod, but Nico curls his lip in disgust. "Like them? They're only excited to see us because they want to watch us die!"

Xavier shakes his head, placing both hands on Nico's shoulders.

"Not at all, dear boy! They're looking for their victor! They're excited to choose which of you they want to see live!"

His tone is encouraging, but Nico's look of disgust simply worsens, and he shrugs Xavier's hands from his shoulders and storms from the room. I can appreciate his sentiment, but not his choice of actions, which seem overly emotional and short sighted. We are game pieces now, and Nico must learn to play. With this in mind, I turn back to the window and smile at the surging crowd. I lift my hand and wave, and there's a resounding roar of approval as my wave is retuned tenfold.

I'm quickly seeing how Peyton's words from yesterday can be applied to the entirety of the games. Whatever happens here, we must accept it and forget about it. We are here to be killed, nothing more, nothing less, and getting angry will help nothing. _Accept it and forget it_. These words are playing over and over in my head as I stand at the window, my smile fixed in place, waving and waving, not stopping even as my arms grow numb and the muscles in my mouth are aching.


	7. Chapter 7

About three years ago, not long after Dex had left and before my training was fully ingrained in my head, I was following my reasonably new routine of leaping from tree to tree when I fell. It was from a fair height, and it had been an overly ambitious jump; I had known I was in trouble as soon as I had launched myself, and though my foot had caught a branch, my hands had clawed uselessly at thin air. My feet had crumbled beneath me as I tumbled heavily to the ground, a sharp, agonising pain shooting up my leg, and panic had set in as I found I dared not, possibly could not, move.

I had lain there for what felt like hours, my heart rate alternatively slow and pounding as I tested my limb, and eventually darkness had crept closer and I had acknowledged I would have to move or my disappearance would be noted. I had eased to my feet and put weight on my leg which immediately screamed in protest, a violent pain which took my breath away. Steeling myself and using a branch as a crutch, I had limped agonisingly slowly to the wall, alternately relieved I was not too far from it and cursing myself for the seemingly unbearable distance. In the back of my mind was the knowledge that I would soon have to scale and jump the wall, but the agonising pain made it easy to forget as I focused on placing one foot in front of the other.

The track had seemed endless but I had eventfully made it, only to have to grit my teeth as I forced myself to climb up and over the wall. Screams had caught in my teeth at every knock of my aching foot as I had slowly dragged myself up along the branch, and then after putting it off for as long as I dared I finally dropped to the ground on the other side. A dart of pure pain had forced its way up my body, so strong I had felt the blood rush from my head, and I had stumbled, falling to the floor as I almost lost consciousness. I had laid there, my mind on nothing but the pain in my foot as I breathed slowly, attempting to keep myself awake and stop myself from being sick.

The sky was dark by the time I had managed to drag myself up and limp to the medical centre, where I blamed what turned out to be a severe sprain on a slip from running home from school. I had spent the night in the centre, praising the drugs that slipped me into restfulness and thanking God that I didn't have to feel that pain again. How curious, then, that all I can think of now is that I would gladly take that pain over the one I am currently experiencing.

My skin is burning. My entire body is in agony. I am lying on a steel table in the remake centre, my prep team bustling and swirling around above me as they make me look "amazing, darling, honestly fabulous." Upon my arrival I was stripped of my clothes, ushered into a large silver tank and taught that my idea of clean on the train had been sorely misguided. I was scrubbed down with thick, scratchy foam, blasted with alternating sprays of hot and cold water and then scratched and scraped at with large, scratchy stones. My skin was red raw by the end of this ordeal, but this did not stop them from spraying me with a medicinal, lurid green wash which stung my tender skin and made my eyes tear up.

From there I was lead here, to the steel table, where I have spent at least the last hour having every scrap of hair ripped from my body by the roots. Over and over in a seemingly endless onslaught a member of the team slathers a portion of my red, aching skin with a hot sticky liquid which is then ripped away, along with a generous portion of my hair. My body is burning, has long since stopped trying to figure out where to send the next bolt of pain and has instead settled for leaving every nerve ending shredded.

Despite this, as directed by Benton I have said not one word, have simply lain here and wished I could be back in the forest, embracing the pain in my foot as easily bearable. I wince as another strip of hair is wrenched from my leg, wondering what difference it can possibly make to my appearance in the chariot, and then open my eyes in relief as one of my prep team announces "there we are, all done!"

I heave myself into a sitting position and glance around the table as the three stare at me analytically, their eyes scanning every inch of my body until the tallest gives a satisfied nod.

"Perfect. A vast improvement."

I fail to see how my red, ruined skin can be considered vastly improved, but I say nothing, simply stare silently back at these three ridiculous creatures as the tallest clasps his hands together and beams.

"Fabulous. Renic will be pleased. You just wait here, he'll be right through. Oh and..." his voice drops to a whisper and he leans conspiratorially close to me. "He's somewhat on the large side at the moment; they've had to delay his slimming surgery. Absolute scandal. He's rather upset about it, so be sure not to say a word."

They bustle from the room, leaving me sat alone in naked silence, wondering why on earth someone would need such a thing as slimming surgery; it seems like a vain, gluttonous waste. But then, of what I have seen so far, all the citizens of the Capitol seem to be vain, gluttonous and wasteful, so this is unsurprising.

I contemplate putting on the robe that is hanging on the wall, but decide against it. My ruined skin is likely too sore to make contact with it, and I imagine I will simply have to take it off as soon as Renic arrives. These Capitol people have little care for modesty. As if on cue, the door swings open and a man who can only be him sweeps through the door.

As I have been warned he is strangely large for a resident of the Capitol, whose slender frames I have come to realise must all be cosmetically altered. This man is as wide as he is tall and dressed neck to toe in a lurid green plastic suit, and the overall impression is of a large apple. His eyes are set back too far in his head and currently fixed unblinkingly on me, and as he strides towards me I instinctively stand up, watching curiously as this obscure little man circles me, his eyes sweeping up and down my body. Eventually he comes to a halt in front of me and his face breaks into a wide beam.

"Finally, a tribute with a little meat on the bones! The ones I usually get are so skinny that I'm forced to drape them in swathes of material to give them some sort of shape. It plays havoc with my creative sensibilities."

He shudders and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, like the tributes have been starving themselves on purpose to mess with his artistic vision. I find myself instantly hating this pompous, ridiculous man, wishing he could spend just one night in one of the Districts. Then he would have something to shudder about. I glower at him, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care as he continues to trot around me in circles, picking up and dropping my limbs seemingly at random.

The door opens again and I look up to see an almost alarmingly slender woman enter the room. She too is dressed in an achingly bright green suit, and though she looks young her stretched, shiny skin tells me she could be at least twice as old as she appears- likely even older than Renic himself. She seems to have removed her eyebrows, making her look permanently shocked, and this combined with her elusive age and plastic appearance makes her quite unnerving to look at.

"Adeline! We have been lucky this year! A tribute worth showing off!"

Renic beams, his short little arms throwing themselves out sideways as he greets my other stylist. Adeline eyes me slowly and then nods, turning her overly serious face to Renic.

"The boy is also of some decorative merit. We shall have to rethink our costuming strategy, I fear. And at such short notice."

Renic smiles, flapping his arms dismissively. "Fear not, I am working on it as we speak. My creative cogs never stop turning!"

His eyes sweep back over me, and he gives me one last satisfied nod before passing me the robe and turning to stride into a door on the far side of the room. Adeline looks at me expectantly so I shrug into the robe, wincing as it makes contact with my tender flesh, and follow them both through.

I sit opposite them in silence as they fling themselves onto large plush chairs and, at the press of a few buttons, steaming plates of food appear in the centre of the tables in front of us. Renic beams with glee as he reaches for what looks like a turkey leg and tears off an enormous chunk with his teeth, and as I watch the already enormous man stuff his face, for the first time in my life I feel no urge to eat whatsoever. Adeline, despite being stick thin, is cramming food into her mouth with equal fervour, which leads me to assume she has managed to squeeze in the surgery that Renic was so unfairly denied. Back at the District people are struggling to keep themselves alive, desperate to add pounds to their frail frames to make the winter more bearable, and these people are having the fat sucked out of them so they can continue to gorge themselves without it being obvious they have done so. I'm suddenly so blind with fury that it takes all of my strength not to reach forward and knock the plates from their hateful hands, and I ball my fists at my sides, staring at their grasping, greedy mouths and hating that every selfish mouthful they take is keeping them alive.

"I've been working on a marvellous strategy for you, ever since I saw the reaping," Renic informs me during breaks in chewing.

"Such fire, such rebellion! I knew we had a live one! I said to Adeline, we shall have a fabulous one to dress this year, did I not Adeline?"

Adeline gives an impervious nod, and I continue to say nothing, but Renic does not seem bothered by either my silence or that of his fellow stylist. He is capable, it seems, of carrying on a conversation entirely by himself.

"It is always a challenge to bring out some character in the little time we have to dress you, but fear not! I am a man with an extreme level of talent!"

He beams plummily as he scoops out the dregs of a pot of sauce with his fingers and sucks on them, nodding to himself as he considers his extreme talent with a self-satisfied smile.

"We always have the District theme to work with of course, despite my attempts at creativity Adeline here has never let me forget that! Fortunately, thought, I have always been able to put my own spin on it. In my hands lumber can become something quite miraculous, and we shall most certainly be able to outdo the costume I threw together last year! It is such a grand thing, to be in constant competition with one's self!"

He burps noisily as he discards the last of his feast, and despite myself I can't help but be impressed at the speed with which he has destroyed the stack of food. He sits back, his squat legs lifting from the ground as he does so, and surveys me happily.

"Oh yes, you will look quite spectacular. I am planning something extra special. This year will be a costume nobody will forget. Just you wait and see!"


	8. Chapter 8

3 hours. We have been at this for over 3 hours. How it can possibly have taken 3 hours to dress me in a costume which is barely more than a strand of rope I don't know, but that is what has happened. I've been stood here for the entire time, being continually instructed not to move despite remaining motionless, staring sullenly as the squeals and chatter of my prep team fill the air. Adeline is nowhere to be seen, but Renic has been here the whole time and is beside himself with joy at his own genius, doing little of the actual work but circling me constantly, shouting directions and pointing. He is so overjoyed at his brilliance that he will not shut up about it; at one point I even spot him wiping away a tear.

"It just came to me," he keeps saying to anyone who will listen. "Out of nowhere. Why dress them in tree costumes when they can_ be_ the trees? Utterly fabulous!"

His idea of fabulous consists of me stripped totally naked, my skin painted brown with intricate whorls and patterns dotted intermittently and a large green rope of ivy twisted all around my person. I want to tell Renic that he is not a genius, that ivy is not a tree, but Benton's instructions continue to ring in my head and as instructed I say nothing, simply stand and listen to Renic insist this is the greatest costume he has ever created as long blades of plastic grass are glued to my eyelids.

"Just you wait," he keeps saying, "Just you wait until you see the headdress!"

Frankly I could wait as long as he likes, and if this is truly his best costume yet then I can understand Benton's scowl. I am yet to see Nico, but if he looks anything like I do then we are sure to be the laughing stock of the Capitol. I am furious that all the work I have put in could be snatched away from me simply due to the creative whim of an overinflated ego, and I glower angrily in his direction.

"Don't move your eyes!" tuts the girl fixing grass to my lashes as she taps me sharply on the temple, and I obediently relax my face as I hear a door open behind me. Everyone other than me turns, and gasps fill the room as Renic clutches his hands to his mouth and stifles a loud sob.

"Its…exquisite!" he wails, rushing forward, and I hear a rustle as he arrives behind me.

"Don't move a muscle now," he warns, and I continue to remain motionless as he eases something onto my head before turning me to face him, tears springing into his eyes as he slowly shakes his head. The prep team scurry alongside him and they all stand, staring in awe at me as I look back at them awkwardly, feeling like an exhibit in a museum. Renic eventually summons up the ability to speak and steps forward, clasping one of my elegantly painted hands in his and squeezing it as he beams at me.

"A vision. An absolute vision," he breathes. I roll my eyes, but then he turns me towards a large mirror and for a moment I am too stunned to speak.

The creature in front of me can't be me, but her mouth opens in astonishment when mine does, her eyes widen as mine do. She is tall, elegant, magnificent and delicate, a vision of soft swirling brown and green. The ivy clings to my body, mercifully covering just enough to spare my embarrassment but displaying my strong, capable figure to its best advantage. And then there's my headdress. A long tumbling shower of leaves, it tangles amongst my own hair and falls down around my shoulders, a perfect crown to my breath-taking costume.

"What do you think?" Renic breathes, clasping his hands in excitement as he moves into the mirror behind me.

"I…I don't look like me."

It's all I can think of to say, and it's true. As fabulous as this costume is, it has completely disguised by identity, and Renic beams and nods in agreement.

"No, indeed you don't! You look far, far better!"

A slight stab of annoyance cuts through me, but it quickly fades; after seeing the vision before me, it is hard to maintain any sort of distain towards Renic. I may be a tree, but I am also spectacular, and it is he who has made me this way. "Thank you," I say grudgingly, and he beams even wider, tears pricking back into his eyes.

"Of course, of course. It is what I am here for, to make you the best that you can possibly hope to be!"

The best I can hope to be. I am certainly that. I turn my head again, watching in wonder as my hair glistens through the leaves and the light dances from the moss green sparkles on my eyelids. Whatever I am, I am certainly not forgettable.

Now that my fears of looking foolish on the chariots have been abated, I am suddenly curious to see what the other tributes are wearing. As if on cue, a calm, disembodied female voice announces that it is time for the tributes to make their way to their chariots. My prep team squeal in panic, but Renic holds his hands out calmly.

"Worry not, we are ready. There is nothing more we need do but wait for the world to see my creation."

The way he speaks makes me understand what Peyton meant when she referred to Benton as a dress up doll, as that is certainly what I have been today; a doll, a toy, truly a playing piece in a massive game.

I am ushered from the room and down to a large bustling chamber filled with chariots, each decorated to reflect the District. Ours, predictably, is wooden, a deep, polished mahogany pulled by two large brown horses. As we approach I see that Nico is already in place; he too looks spectacular, and he raises his eyebrows as I climb in beside him, looking me quickly up and down.

"You look really….something," he says, and I give him a wry smile.

"You look really something too," I respond, and he matches my smile before we lapse into silence, wordlessly acknowledging that this is as close to bonding as we will ever get. Adeline beams when she sees me, slightly adjusting the leaves that wind across my chest.

"Perfect. Just perfect," she smiles, and I return her smile before she turns to Renic. "You are truly a genius."

Renic agrees wholeheartedly and I roll my eyes, turning to survey the crowd around me. I'm pleased to see our costume is one of the best. The District 5 tributes look striking, dressed in a metallic mesh of silver and blue which sends off intermittent sparks and flashes, and the District 1 tributes certainly stand out, but I do not envy them their crystalline clothes, almost certainly meant to simulate diamonds but made of such material that not one part of their body is not visible to everyone. I feel highly sympathetic towards the District 9 tributes, as whilst their costumes, like ours, have them dressed as the product of their District, the long beige tubes and tall straw headdresses are far less flattering than my own brown and green tumbling reeds, and they both look sullen and fed up. My eyes also settle on the tributes from District 10, who are dressed in what looks like a strange hybrid of cow and rancher, in brown leather boots, cow-print trousers, patchwork shirts, wide brim hats with horns extended from them and what appears to be gloves shaped like cloven hoofs. It looks as through their stylists could not settle on which look to go for and have instead combined two, with little success.

The boy from 10, whose name I can't remember but whom I recall marking as a threat, does not look impressed, and as I am watching him he looks up at me suddenly. I feel a dart through my chest as we lock eyes, and even from this distance I suddenly feel the strangest sensation; a connection of sorts, like I know him, somehow. An uneasy tingle runs down my spine as he holds my gaze with his, and I am glad of the distraction when Adeline adjusts my headpiece and I am able to turn away.

Renic stands in front of the carriage and surveys us proudly. "Marvellous. Quite marvellous. I am sure to be the talk of the Capitol…"

Whilst I can tell from the way he has puffed out his chest that the remainder of his speech is similarly self-satisfied, it is lost to my ears as the opening notes of the anthem ring out. There is a sudden jerk as the horses, without being told, turn us slowly around, and I catch myself on the edge of the chariot as we are placed in line between Districts 6 and 8. Trumpets sound as the chariots begin to move out, and I glance down at Renic and Adeline, both of whom are fluttering their hands and saying something I can't hear; last minute adjustments that will be of little use as my own carriage is now moving, and before I know it I have burst out of the underground centre and into the streets of the Capitol.

* * *

It's a wall of noise. Sound buffets me from all angles as my eyes struggle to adjust to the sight in front of me; I have seen it a hundred times on the television, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality. The streets of the Capitol are lined with tens of thousands of screaming people, and everywhere I turn I see another face, either reaching from the stands or enlarged to terrifying proportions on one of the enormous screens that are placed at intervals along the road. I am deafened by the roar of the crowd and the booming music, and I find I'm unable to focus on anything but the sound of my own heartbeat. It is only when I catch sight of my blank face on the screen that I manage to piece together Renic and Adeline's final, gestured directions to me as the carriage pulled out. _Wave_.

I lift my arm, waving randomly, and as the crowd screams their appreciation I bring my other hand up to join it, faking enthusiasm. The music, the decorations and the roar of the crowd is infectious, and soon my enthusiasm is no longer fake and I find I'm actually smiling. I doubt it can be seen under all my face paint but it lifts me nonetheless, and I wave with a renewed vigour as I'm transported back into my persona on the train; a tribute who loves the audience.

It feels like no time at all has passed by the time we finally arrive at the city circle. As we pull into a semi-circle around the president's mansion I find my arms are aching with effort, and I relish finally being able to lower them to my sides. I glance at Nico for the first time and he is staring blankly, his face the image of what mine was when I caught it on the screen. I am uncertain if he has maintained this visage the entire time- truth be told, I forgot he was there- but if so he has let pass another opportunity to connect with the audience, with potential sponsors. I find I am pleased, and though I imagine I should feel guilty for this I don't. If he doesn't endear himself to sponsors now then he won't last long in the arena, making him one less tribute for me to worry about.

I turn to look at the mansion as the anthem ends and the distant figure of President Snow moves out onto the balcony. He begins his welcome speech, and though I have heard it a thousand times I find myself listening to it with renewed interest now that it is directed at me, and I realise that the welcome seems less of a polite tradition and more of an ironic cruel joke. _Welcome to the Capitol. You will have to feed yourself, house yourself and stop yourself from being killed. We hope you enjoy your stay. _

The welcome seems shorter than usual, although perhaps this is because I was actually listening this year, and before I know it his speech is over, the crowd are cheering and we are being given our last chance to wave to the people of the Capitol before the chariots trail into the doors of the tall, ominous building that will be our home for the next week; the training centre. The cheers of the crowd become more and more distant until they are suddenly cut off completely as the last carriage enters the centre, and the doors close firmly behind us.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for reading, hope you are enjoying it! Reviews will make me write faster ;)**

* * *

Whilst it would be impossible for one person to replicate the noise of the crowd Renic seems to be doing his very best to manage it, his booming voice echoing around the room as he praises my costume, my hair, the reaction of the crowd, my enthusiastic waving, even the way I was standing. I notice his expressions of admiration are directed solely at me, telling me I was right in my assumption that Nico was standing expressionlessly for the entire ride, and whilst I understand his contempt for the Capitol I can't help but think he is foolish to have made it so obvious. His sullen behaviour will win him few fans, and they could be what save his life in the games; as Peyton said, he must accept his anger and forget it if he is to have any chance of survival.

Xavier matches Renic in his enthusiastic praise, claiming that we are "the talk of the Capitol", but as I still find it hard to trust everything Xavier says I instead look to my mentors for confirmation that I have done well. Peyton gives a small, appreciative nod, which coming from her is as grand as a sign of acknowledgment I am ever likely to get, but Benton looks ecstatic as he punches me on the arm.

"Good work kiddo, you looked like you were having the time of your life. Who knew you had it in you?"

He grins at me and I shrug. "It was easy" I say, because in the end it _was_ easy to get swept up in the atmosphere, to forget the real reason for the excitement of the crowd, but Benton shakes his head.

"There's nothing easy about looking pleased to be parading yourself in front of a bunch of idiots whilst wearing next to nothing. Still, you got lucky, your outfit aint half bad."

"Luck had nothing to do with it my boy!" Renic announces loudly, his face a picture of indignance. "What you are looking at right now is pure talent."

"Yea, I'm starting to see that," Benton replies, raising his eyebrows at me pointedly, and I find myself blushing again at his praise, relieved that this time I have the face paint to hide it.

Despite the fact that they are not directed at him, Benton's words placate Renic, and after a few more self-congratulatory speeches he allows Xavier to shepherd us off towards the elevator which will carry us up to floor 7, our home for the next few days.

* * *

I keep thinking I will get used to the sights of the Capitol but I am yet to do so, and am once again awestruck as I walk into a room that's bigger than any I have ever seen, the ceilings higher than the roof of the Community home. Everything is perfect, right down to the last detail, and Nico and I stand side by side and gawp as Xavier swans about proudly, exalting in our amazement. "The best floor of the whole lot- I've seen" he assures us with a wink, but even if that's true it's hard to summon up any pride at having the nicest living quarters; more interesting is the smell of food coming from somewhere I can't specify. I didn't have lunch due to my disgust at the stylists, and I suddenly find I am starving. As if he's read my mind Xavier turns to us suddenly, his silver coat swirling around him as he briskly claps his hands.

"Food will be served soon, but first I shall show you to your rooms so you can shower and dress for dinner."

He emphasises the word shower, glancing at me, and I can't help but smile. Despite my previous form, he surely can't think I will show up to dinner dressed as a tree? It seems this is exactly what he thinks, however, as he takes care to point out my private bathroom before leaving me alone in my room.

As I gaze around I recall Xavier's comment on the train, and whilst it still seems ridiculous I can understand what he means; I can't help but feel a slight sense of privilege at being able to experience this. I sink onto the thick, soft bed, my hands brushing instinctively over the smooth sheets, and allow my eyes to take in the surroundings, unable to believe this is my room. But then, as the alternative is the Community home I suppose anything can be seen as an improvement, regardless of the heavy price involved.

The entire of one wall is taken up by a large window, and I can see right out into a Capitol street. It takes me a moment to realise this is impossible, as we are on the 7th floor, and I rise to my feet curiously, crossing to the window and placing my hand upon the glass. As soon as I do the image swirls, making me jump as it changes into a hot, sun-baked desert. I stare for a moment at the heated wasteland before pressing my palm to the glass again, and then immediately wish I hadn't as the next image is of a deep underwater cavern. My heart pounds ridiculously as I stare at the swirling water, watching the plants move as if in slow motion, and when I can bear it no longer I press my hand to the glass, relaxing as the screen swirls into a sky twinkling with stars. Irritated by my foolish reaction to an image I angrily turn away, strip off my outfit and head into the shower, turning the water as hot as I dare and scrubbing until every last trace of paint is removed.

When I eventually emerge from the shower I'm not sure if I'm happy or sad to be reduced to my usual self, but at least my reflection is finally familiar again. It is clear that Renic does not find my return to previous form as comforting as I do; he sighs wistfully when I walk up to the table for dinner, casting his eyes over me like I am a shapeless hunk of clay he is longing to mould.

"Adeline and I have received nothing but praise for the outfits" he beams across at me as I take my seat. "Everyone was talking about how wonderful you looked. Both of you."

He adds this almost as an afterthought, glancing across to Nico who is staring blankly into his soup, and I nod as I reach for a glass of sparkling pink liquid.

"That's good then. At least people noticed us" I say, and Renic chuckles.

"Oh yes, noticed you they did, and they will continue to do so! Adeline and I are already working on your outfit for the interview, it's going to be even more remarkable I assure you."

He winks at me and I swallow nervously. Even though I have to admit that Renic pulled of a minor miracle with his previous costume, I am still anxious as to what this 'remarkable' outfit may entail. My worry must show on my face as Benton, seated as usual to my left, ducks his head towards me conspiratorially.

"Don't worry, the worst is over. The ceremony outfit is to make you stand out; the interview outfit is to make you look good."

I look at him, encouraged, and he smiles reassuringly.

"As ridiculous as he is, he does his job well. There's no way you're going to look anything other than spectacular."

I nod, relieved, and realise that I'm glad Benton is my mentor. He seems to have an almost uncanny ability to tell what I am worrying about, and though he does not always calm these fears, the fact that he is able to recognize them in me is comfort in itself. Peyton, too, is proving to be a real asset; though she has said little up to this point, what she has said has pinned itself into my brain, and I get the sense her advice will be invaluable. I am struck with the urge to ask them both how they won their games, but for some reason I don't want to with the stylists and Xavier present. I think it's because I see them as a separate entity, the Capitol people, and what goes on in the games feels like it should belong to the tributes. This is an utterly illogical feeling, since the games are for their entertainment, broadcast over the entire of Panem, but it is a feeling nonetheless that I am unable to shake, so I instead ask if any further thought has been placed upon my strategy.

"Not really. We tend to wait for the results of the training. The score you get is a massive indicator of what kind of persona you should be exhibiting."

I'm not entirely certain I understand why, and this must show on my face as Benton elaborates.

"There's no use preparing to pitch you as a warrior if you score a 4, just as we can't set you up as a hider if you come out with an 8. We have to make sure the way we present you fits your skill set."

I nod slowly as Renic pipes up.

"And your outfit, of course. We have to make sure your personality is reflected in your clothing. It's possibly the most important part."

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief, and can sense the smirk on Benton's face even before I look at him. My face creases into a reluctant smile and I turn away, just catching Xavier's serious nod of agreement before Peyton leans across the table towards me.

"It is true that everything counts if we are going to put together a strategy that will appeal to sponsors. Benton and I are already doing our utmost to attract them of course, but we will need some idea of what we are selling so we'll need to know what you can do."

_Everything_, I want to say, but I am reluctant to elaborate on the true nature of my abilities, and the illegal nature by which I came to possess them, in front of Xavier and the others. I doubt there is anything they will do now I am here, but the Capitol are still the Capitol, and I will never believe I can speak freely in front of them. I'm just opening my mouth to outline a heavily edited version of my talents when Peyton continues.

"Of course, you need not divulge them yet. Just think about it, if there's any angle you've considered yourself. And you'll both need to decide if you want to be coached together or separately."

I start, looking at Nico in surprise. I had actually forgotten he was here, and I suddenly feel foolish; of course it wouldn't make sense to list my skills in front of him, edited or otherwise. "Separately" I say without hesitating, and Peyton nods her acknowledgment. I don't look at Nico; now is not the time to worry about hurt feelings. I have nothing against him personally, but I don't intend to have him as an ally, and therefore anything he knows about me becomes a weakness I don't need.

We lapse into silence for the remainder of the meal, listening to Xavier and Renic toss compliments back and forth like they are trying to outdo each other. Eventually, when I can eat no more, I excuse myself and escape back to my room, which already feels like a sanctuary. It can't be that late, but Xavier was correct in his claim that today would require energy- being beautiful is a lot more tiring than I had imagined, and I find I am eager to climb into bed.

As I prepare myself to go to sleep I ponder over what Peyton has said, considering how I want to present myself, but my mind is a blank. All my preparation for the games has been physical; I had never considered how I would appear to the audience. I'm not really sure how I come across to others; cold and unfriendly I've always assumed, but even I know that's not a good selling point. I ponder over a few strategies but none seem to fit, and by the time I slide beneath the silky soft sheets I am left with no better option that to hope that my mentors know what to with me, because I have still come up with nothing, and I have little further time to consider before my brain shuts down in protest and I slip into an exhausted sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

My body is awake before I am. Even whist my brain is still dragging itself into consciousness my hands are sweeping over the soft fabric of the bed linin, my legs wrapping themselves in the thick, luxurious blanket. I turn my head into the pillow and brush my cheek across the material; it's almost indecently soft, and the overall effect is like sleeping in a huge cloud. It amazes me that anything could be more comfortable than my bed on the train, but this is infinitely more so. I curl onto my side and pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and cocooning myself in the softness and warmth. I could stay here all day; at least, I could if my movements were my own to decide, and not dictated to me by the Capitol.

The thought shakes the final ounce of sleep from me and I sit up, blinking slightly. My eye immediately alights on the only thing that has changed since I fell asleep- a dark navy outfit with bold stripes of red has been lain out on the chair by the door. The feeling that someone has been in here without my knowledge unsettles me a little, but I dismiss this as foolishness. Why would they want any harm to come to me here, without a captive audience? I swing my legs out of bed, allowing myself a second to enjoy the feeling of the thick carpet between my toes before I pad softly across the room and pick up what must be my training outfit. I feel a surprising dart of excitement shoot through me at the thought of finally testing out my skills, relishing the chance to prove that I can put up a fight. It's not until I am dressed and looking at my outfit in the mirror that I notice the numbers; a clearly printed 7 adorns the sleeve of each arm, branding me like a cattle marked for death.

Since I have not been called for breakfast I make my own way, and for once I am not first- Nico is there, dressed in a matching outfit to mine. He doesn't even glance up as I walk in and I ignore him in turn, filling my plate high with every meat product I can find and sitting as far from his as possible. I try and establish if things are tense between us since my unhesitant decision that we should be trained separately, but truthfully things are no different than they have ever been. The lack of anyone else in the room does act to highlight the gulf between us, however, and I find I am eating faster than usual, eager to leave and seek the company of someone who I may not eventually be forced to kill.

I finish my food in record time and head back to my room, only to find it occupied. I pause in the doorway and wait for Peyton to notice me; she is right at the other side of the room, standing by the screen and watching the faux night sky. I am totally silent as I wait and yet she senses me straight away, turning her head suddenly and giving me a rare smile.

"Tyla. Have you eaten?"

I nod, stepping inside and closing the door behind me, and she gestures to a pair of chairs to my right. I stare at her expectantly as she sits, watching me for a moment before sitting back in her chair.

"So tell me Tyla. What can you do?"

Thanks to the time I've had to prepare for this question my answer is ready in my head, and I don't hold back.

"I'm fast, very fast, and I can run for a long time. I can jump, quite high and quite far, and I can climb well- I don't mind heights. I throw excellently; I can throw heavy and light weapons and I don't miss, and though I've no practice shooting my aim is perfect. I'm great with axes too, up close or from a distance. And I'm not afraid."

I add this almost as an afterthought, as I have never really included this in my skill set before, but suddenly it strikes me as important. I want to impress her, I realise, this silent, serious woman who is such a mystery, and yet may hold my life in her hands. She nods slowly, a smile spreading across her face.

"Excellent. You say you can't shoot- don't try and learn. It's all well and good to give it a try, but there are many skills you can pick up, and if you spend the next three days attempting to learn one that you do not instantly excel at you will waste your time."

She pauses to think and I wait silently, hooked on the promise of her silence as much as her words.

"The better you are at something, the less you want the others to know- you must save your skills for your allotted time alone with the Gamemakers, and spend your time instead at the stands that you are unfamiliar with. How are your survival skills?"

I have been so immersed in her words, attempting to commit each syllable to memory, that it takes me a moment to realise she has stopped talking, is awaiting an answer. I run through her words in my head until I find the question and nod.

"Good, I think. I feed myself well enough, although mainly game, but I've no experience sleeping wild."

She nods. "Then be sure to visit the edible plant section, the shelters- build your survival skills, and don't underestimate their importance. Staying alive, and staying strong, is key."

I nod, waiting eagerly as she lapses into another thoughtful silence.

"If the Gamemakers are there, do not feel you have to put on a show. They expect you to hold on to your best skills to impress them later, so forget they are there. Focus on picking up skills you do not possess, not showing of the ones you do. And remember, others may be watching you. Everyone around you may eventually try and kill you; do not make it easy by showing them how."

I nod, rising from my seat as she does, staring back as she fixes her eyes on mine.

"You are strong, Tyla, and you have skills. You have a chance here. But do not allow yourself to forget who is in charge. Anything can change at any time in the arena, and you need to use this time to make yourself as prepared as you possibly can be."

I swallow and nod, absorbing her words as she continues.

"The training begins at 10. Meet Xavier at the lift just before and he will take you down."

I nod again, and as she turns to leave I blurt out the question I have been wondering since I first saw her. "How did you win?"

She stops and turns back to me, her face as blank and impassive as ever.

"I remembered that only two things were important- keeping myself alive and stopping others from being so. I forgot everything else and focused all my energy on nothing but this. And I trusted nothing and nobody but myself."

Like all her other answers it is brief and to the point, but her words are instantly engraved on my mind, and I find myself repeating them in my head after she's gone. It's already almost 10, so I allow myself a moment to straighten up my outfit and study myself in the mirror before I leave to begin my training.

As promised Xavier is hovering by the lift, and he beams as I approach.

"Perfect timing! All ready to go?"

I nod, then frown in confusion as his face falls.

"Where's Nico?" he asks, scanning the hallway behind me and then looking at me expectantly.

"Not with me" I snap, irritated that he expected me to keep tabs on Nico, that he seems to think we come as a sort of pair. Xavier sighs and places his hands on his hips, pursing his lips in disapproval.

"If we are the last District to get there what will that say about me? I organise these things to the letter for good reason- everything we do is a reflection on my escort skills! I refuse to be bumped down to 11 or 12 simply because my tributes are unable to practice good time keeping!"

I'm ridiculously outraged that he has grouped me in as a latecomer, and am just opening my mouth to tell him that I will happily go down alone when a voice cuts in from behind me.

"Keep your hair on Xave, he's right here."

I turn to see Benton ushering Nico down the hall towards us. Nico is wearing his usual sullen face, and I notice that even Benton looks a little grimmer than usual. Xavier seems oblivious however, as his brief panic at being late to training has passed and he is beaming again.

"Splendid. Splendid splendid splendid! On we go then!"

He ushers us into the elevator and before I know it we are stepping out into the training room, a vast hall that is bigger than all the rooms I have seen so far put together. It seems that Xavier's fears of being the last group down were justified, as there are already a crowd of tributes hovering by the door; it looks like at least half the Districts are already here, and half of those are made up of the careers. They have already teamed up and are talking in loud, boastful voices about how talented they are. I figure either they weren't advised to keep their skills a secret, or else they are so convinced they can't be beaten that they are choosing to ignore this advice. Likely it's the second one, although equally likely is that their mentors did not bother telling them to keep quiet, knowing it would make little difference. They are eager to assert themselves as the dominant crowd, and since the others are skulking back behind them silently it seems to be working on most of the tributes. _Not me_, I decide, squaring my shoulders and marching to the front of the group. The careers trail off in surprise and Onyx, the bull faced boy from District 1, laughs in disbelief.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I don't bother turning to look at him, keeping my gaze locked defiantly forward as I reply.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise we had been assigned standing spaces."

I can see them all looking at each other out of the corner of my eye, but none of them speaks, and I can tell I have thrown them. The brief swell of pride turns quickly to a spark of anxiety, though, as I sense them all turning to look at me. Fighting is forbidden between the tributes until the arena, but whilst I am in no immediate danger I don't want to make an enemy of them. But then, we are all enemies by necessity; this won't make any difference. Still, it does not stop my pulse from creeping up, and just when I am on the verge of regretting my impulsive actions someone comes to stand beside me.

I glance to my right, ever so slightly, and though I can't see his face his stocky, muscular body and dark, almost black hair tell me it is the boy from 10. I had marked him as a potential nemesis, and though this is still the case I can't deny I am glad of his presence now. After a moment more footsteps move across to join us; the boy from 5, both tributes from 9, and as they arrive the tributes from 6 and 11 join us too. We are not standing here to declare ourselves united, we are simply standing against the career's assumption that they own these games, and this display of equality and strength has forced them to stop their boastful prattling. Whilst I know that I will have secured myself as a target of the wrath of the Careers for making them look foolish, I do not allow myself to dwell on this, and I can't help but accept the silent room as a badge of honour; a symbol of a playing field I helped to level.

Once the final set of tributes has arrived, our head trainer, a tall, muscular woman named Atala, arrives almost immediately, and her sharp, flint grey eyes scan the room, surveying us. Her calmly threatening demeanour reminds me of Peyton, and I note that she is the first citizen of the Capitol I have seen so far who would stand a chance in the games if they were compelled to play as we are. As a result, I imbue her with a note of grudging respect, and she has my full attention when she finally begins to speak.

Quickly but methodically, as if she has done it a hundred times, she runs through the training schedule that will make up our next three days. There are numerous assault courses and skill stations scattered around the room, each with a trainer or expert who will stay at their station. We are free to travel between them as we wish, spending as long as we want to at each section. It's a surprising amount of freedom given that we are essentially prisoners, and in fact it seems that the only rule- as she re-iterates firmly- is that there is to be no combat between tributes. My eyes flicker towards the careers, hoping that the message is clear, and that their vengeance on me for their wounded pride will wait until the arena. My future self will have to take the punishment for my rash and impulsive present actions; like she didn't already have enough to deal with.

Atala begins to read through a list of the skill stations, and though I've been specifically ordered to steer clear of those I will excel at, I can't stop my ears latching onto them. Spears, knife throwing, target practice, speed courses, climbing walls, axes- these are the areas familiar to me, and I fight an immediate urge to show off. I want to prove I can do more than simply stand defiantly in line with the careers; I want to show them I am their equal, a force to be reckoned with. But I have my orders; faith in Peyton wins over my pride, and as soon as we are released I find myself at the shelters section. It's an obvious choice for skills I do not have, as I have never once attempted to make a shelter in my life- my training has been in the day, never overnight, and as my trainer begins to teach me the basics I find myself wishing I had stayed out at night, at least once. My training has left me feeling like I have the upper hand, so attempting something in which I have no skill is humbling. As I struggle to bind a set of branches with some vine leaves, I get a sense of how it must feel to have been plucked from your home and stuck here with no skill at all, and I feel an unwelcome surge of sympathy for the other tributes; I do not enjoy feeling incompetent. If my lack of skill is infuriating the trainer he does not show it- I imagine he is used to it- and through his patience I am eventually able to fashion a sub-par shelter which I doubt would protect me from anything before I gladly move on.

I choose the next nearest skill, the knots table, and whilst I'm again frustrated at my lack of skill I find I am fascinated, years of practice at training kicking in as I focus my mind and attempt to fill it with as much knowledge as possible. It's comforting to me, to be back in that routine of training, and I spend a while fixated on a particular knot, doing it over and over until it sinks into my head. I forget my surroundings and lose myself in the familiar feeling of training, letting my mind wonder back to when the games which were simply something that would eventually occur. I'm able to lose myself in this memory so well that before I know it the morning has flown past, and a gong is calling us though to lunch.


	11. Chapter 11

Lunch is served in a long hall just off the training room in which the walls are lined with dozens of carts covered in every conceivable type of food. I reach for a plate, pile it with every piece of protein I can see, and when I eventually have everything I could possibly eat I scan the room for a place to sit. There are enough tables for us all to sit separately if we wanted, but the careers, as has quickly become the norm, have gathered on one table and are talking loudly together. I briefly consider joining them just to see their faces, but disregard this as one rebellion too far and instead sit on a table by myself near the back of the room, as far from anyone else as possible.

I dig into my food, intent to store up as much energy as I can, and watch as the other tributes slowly file in, fill their own plates and sit. Mostly they do the same as me and sit alone; a few sit with their District partners, but even they do not speak, and the only sound in the hall is the noise of the careers congratulating themselves on their morning achievements. I ignore them and focus on my plate, slicing through a thick steak as I try and figure out which skill zones to suck at after lunch.

"Hey."

I glance up in surprise at the voice that comes from in front of me. It's the beautiful dark haired boy from District 10, the one who I locked eyes with at the opening ceremony, the one who stood beside me this morning. He is tall, a good 6 inches on me at least, with dark, dark brown hair, almost black, that falls into his equally dark brown eyes. As I finally get my first up close glimpse of him I realise why I thought he was familiar before; he is strangely similar to Darin, the boy from my District who I looked at but never spoke to. I have no idea why he's talking to me though, and I watch uncomprehendingly as he places his plate down next to mine and slides into the seat. Caleb. That's his name. I remember it just as he says it himself.

"I'm Caleb. From 10." he adds, tilting his arm towards me to display the bright red number adorning his sleeve. I am opening my mouth to reply when he continues.

"You're Tyla, right? District 7."

My mouth hangs open as I gawp at him like a fish, and he grins, his smile warm and wide.

"I remember you from the reaping. The way you walked through the crowd like that. Pretty unforgettable. And it looks like it wasn't a one off."

He nods his head towards the careers, who I notice have quietened slightly since they spotted we were sitting together. They are shooting us confused glances, and they are not the only ones; all the tributes have noticed, and we are suddenly the sole focus of everyone's attention. That's not surprising, as I can't imagine it's common for tributes to befriend each other; it seems pointless even for those from their own District, let alone different ones. It is usually only careers that team up, and they do it for their own purposes, to help cut down the numbers before they turn on each other. Everyone knows that friendships are a waste of time, since we will eventually kill each other anyway. So what is this boy's angle? I regard him with suspicion and open hostility, and it must show on my face as he starts when he looks up at me before raising an eyebrow.

"You don't mind do you? I didn't fancy just listening to that lot prattle on. Figured they aren't the only ones who can sit together"

His eyes flicker back to the career table and I relax a little, as this makes sense to me. I can understand wanting to take the careers down a peg or two, and he know this; it is an impulse he has already seen me act upon. I still don't trust him, but I can see that what he is doing is simply an extension of my own actions earlier, designed to knock the careers off their self-appointed pedestals. This thought helps me discard at least a little of my suspicion and I shake my head, finally swallowing the food that has been frozen in my mouth since his arrival.

"It's fine," I say, and he nods. We lapse into silence, and whilst I have no intention of filling it, I'm irritated that where before it was irrelevant now it is noticeable, almost loud in its obviousness. We eat wordlessly as the silence drags on, and eventually he clears his throat.

"Learn any decent knots?"

I look at him sharply, my defensiveness back up. He was watching me? I'm glad of Peyton's advice, as even if he was, he will have learned nothing of my true talents, nothing that could give him anything on me. He tips his head slightly, returning my frosty gaze with a smile.

"I was at the site right by you, the archery range. Not one of my skills it's fair to say. I could have been standing a foot away and I would still have missed. It's like the whole room has been set up to prove how useless I am."

I can't help but smile slightly at his cheerful admission of his own failings. It's somewhat disarming, and despite myself I can't help but immediately warm to him.

"If I'm forced to build a shelter then I'll be dead in a day," I hear myself admit grudgingly, and he laughs.

"And this was just our first go! There's two more days of this to come!"

I smile back, but this time I don't answer. A small admission as to my lack of talent at building shelters seems harmless-it seems he may have witnessed it anyway- but I don't want to carry on down this line of discussing skills for too long. He's too easy to trust, this boy, his smile to warm and relaxed for me to ensure I won't let something slip, and I can't afford to forget Peyton's advice- to trust only myself. Besides, he's already admitted he was watching me, and that in itself is reason to keep my guard up, so I say nothing, and once again we lapse into silence as we continue to eat.

"What do you think of the food?" he asks eventually. "Pretty great huh?"

"Amazing." I can't help but enthuse. "Unreal. It's like nothing I've ever tasted before."

It occurs to me that the food may not be as much of a novelty to him as it is to me, given that the steak I am currently eating is a product of his District, but when I say as much to him he raises his eyebrows incredulously.

"You're joking right? That's District 10's finest you're eating there, no chance we'd ever get our hands on that. Just because we rear the meat doesn't mean we get to eat it."

This surprises me, as I had always envied Districts 10 and 11 for their easy access to food, but then I think of the cold winters where we watched helplessly as every scrap of wood was shipped out of our hands whilst our own houses remained freezing, and I feel foolish for ever thinking otherwise.

"No, I guess not." I say finally, which seems inadequate given the naivety of my statement. I wonder if it's worse, to have food in front of you and not be allowed to touch it; to know that someone else is enjoying the food you worked for while you are starving. I've never really given much thought to the other Districts, just always assumed they must all be better than mine, but I'm suddenly curious about this boy, about the life he lived back at District 10, about his family, if he had them. He must have done- he's too warm, too confident, his eyes too friendly to have been raised in the isolated manner as I was. I feel inadequate, suddenly, and once again I'm curious why it's me he's chosen to speak to.

"Do you know your District partner?"

My question surprises him, and he looks uncomfortable as he shrugs. "Not really. Her name's Rhona, she's younger than me. I kinda recognized her but we've never spoken."

"Same" I nod, and we once again lapse into silence. I wish I hadn't mentioned it now, as thinking of home has made him look miserable, his eyes suddenly sad and lifeless. I don't like that the anxiety on his face is bothering me so much- why should I care if this boy I've only just met has life in his eyes or not? His life will be over soon enough anyway. I tell myself this, and yet I still wish I could think of something to say to cheer him up again. I can't think of anything adequate, so instead I turn back to my plate, and we finish eating in the gloomy silence brought about by my own social inadequacy.

* * *

Eating such a gargantuan lunch has reminded me how few days I have left in which to be well fed, and with this in mind I head straight to the edible plants table as soon as lunch is over. I have managed to feed myself well in the wild, but only because I can throw with enough accuracy to skewer a rabbit or wild bird without any problems. Plants are something I know nothing of, and I'm determined to cram my head with as much knowledge of them as possible. When I have gone over every plant on the stand at least three times I move onto the edible insects table and do the same.

The afternoon is nearly over when I finally concede there is nothing more I can learn here, and I find myself stood gazing at the axe display, contemplating the briefest of goes, when I am shouldered aside so roughly that I almost fall. The air is forced from my lungs and I turn, winded, to look into the confrontational face of Onyx, taking deep breaths as he creases his face into a mocking smirk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise this space was taken."

I smile at the nonsensical imitation of my own actions from earlier and cock my head at him pityingly.

"That's ok. You can't help being stupid."

Anger sweeps across his face as he lifts an axe, bearing down at me, his teeth bared in an ugly grimace. I take a step away, instantly clasping my hands behind my back to highlight to any observers that I am most certainly not a voluntary participant in this forbidden altercation.

"You think you're so smart, don't you 7," he spits, his mouth almost frothing as he sneers right up in my face.

"Not especially smart, no" I breathe in response. "Just a whole lot smarter than you."

Fury flashes across his features as he processes my remark, and he steps forward, axe held high. I've managed to maintain my stance but my heart is pounding, and I am just about to flinch away when the towering figure of Atala steps between us, her hand catching Onyx's wrist as she twists the axe from his grip.

"Physical altercations between tributes are strictly forbidden" she tells him smoothly. "One more incident and you will be banned from the training room. This is your only warning."

Onyx glowers, but her silent authority is undeniable, and he slinks backwards as she places the axe on the stand and walks away. I dare not look around the room as I am sure people will be staring, so instead I look back at Onyx, making me look braver and more rebellious than I feel. He narrows his eyes when mine meet his and clenches his fists, his jaw stiffening as I hold his eyes in what must appear to be bold defiance.

"Watch your back 7" he snaps. "Because you're mine now. And dead or alive, I aint' leaving that arena until I've felt your neck snap in my hands."

My stomach dives as he turns and storms away and I turn back to the axe table, my eyes raking over the weapons unseeingly as I reprocess his words in my head. _Great,_ I think morosely as the gong sounds, indicating the end of our training time for the day. _My first enemy_.


	12. Chapter 12

Nico materialises by my side as soon as Xavier steps out of the lift to collect us, and I realise with surprise that I haven't seen him all day. I look at him as we ride back up to our floor, trying to figure out why I didn't lay eyes on him even once- it seems impossible, even in a room that size, for him to have been completely inconspicuous. _Perhaps he really excelled at the camouflage table,_ I think to myself, and a small smile spreads across my face at the thought. Our mentors are waiting for us at the table, and they look up expectantly as we walk in and take our seats.

"So how did the wonders of the training room treat you?" Benton drawls with a smile as I reach for a nearby dish of noodles in a creamy, green sauce and dig in. I glance at Nico, unsure how much to say since we have asked to be coached separately, but I suppose it doesn't matter- he will have been instructed like me to keep any real talents a secret, and we would have seen each other in the training room anyway- at least, he would have seen me.

"Alright I guess. But I was terrible at everything" I say, and Peyton nods approvingly.

"Good. That means you must be learning something new, which could prove valuable."

"I hope so. All it feels like at the moment is that I'm proving to everyone how useless I am."

"Never hurts to have them underestimate you." Benton says, and since I can't disagree, I instead spoon more of the noodles into my mouth; despite my huge lunch, I am ravenous again. I can't see how, since I have hardly exerted myself, and it makes me nervous about how hungry I will be in the games, when the real effort begins.

"Tyla made a friend" says Nico suddenly into the silence, and I roll my eyes.

"Oh yea. I may have accidently offended the careers."

"Accidently?" Benton asks, raising his eyebrows, and I smirk at him.

"Let's just say that the boy from 1 has decided he and I are never gonna be best friends."

Benton makes a noise between a snort and a laugh and pulls a mock tragic face at me. "I bet you were devastated."

"Distraught" I shoot back, and we grin at each other.

"Was that really necessary?"

Peyton's voice cuts in, and when I turn to look at her she is frowning slightly.

"There's no sense in making enemies. It can't help you to put yourself in the line of sight of the careers."

I bite my lip but Benton scoffs.

"Can't exactly hurt either. They were hardly going to buddy up- I don't see how it will make the blindest bit of difference."

I'm glad at Benton's assertion that it doesn't matter, as Peyton's words have caused doubt to settle into my mind. She is right that I didn't need to be setting myself out from the others, and I'm angry that through my own stubborn pride I may have done to myself exactly what Dex did- made myself a target for the careers. But then, Dex publicly declared that he couldn't be beaten; waved a red flag in their face, gave them a challenge they couldn't refuse. I may have wounded their pride in public, but I haven't confronted them in front of an audience, given them an irredeemable reason to target me as he did. Even so, I decide to keep my head down from now on. If I do, there is still a chance that they will focus their energies on the bigger boys first, the more obvious targets like Kirin from 11, the boys from District 5 and 6, and Caleb. I can't help but feel a stab of guilt that I've included his name on my list of human shields, but that's illogical. He is not my friend, not my ally, we just sat together at lunch. That's all. Still, I feel a little like I've betrayed him, and it angers me how quickly he has gone from being just another tribute to someone who is capable of eliciting guilt in me. He has no right to install myself in his head as a person of importance. I decide not to allow my thoughts to linger on him any further, and I've just pushed him from my mind when Nico speaks up again.

"I didn't mean the career. I meant the boy from 10."

The table turns to look at me and I feel a flush creep across my face.

"The boy from 10?" Benton enquires, an eyebrow raised, and I shoot a furious glance at Nico.

"Him? That's nothing. We just…we sat together. For lunch. We barely even spoke."

"He went right over and sat with her. They looked like allies. You were definitely friends."

He says it matter-of-factly, and as he leaves the room I glare after him, feeling my face flush again as I turn to look at my mentors. Peyton looks more horrified now than when she thought I had made an enemy, and Benton just looks…surprised. Like of all the things I could have done, making a friend is the most unlikely. I don't know which makes me feel worse.

"He is not my friend." I snap, but even I can hear the defensiveness in my tone, and it's less than convincing. "Not at all. He was just using me to wind up the careers."

"Yea, those careers hate nothing more than people having lunch together."

Benton's voice is sarcastic, and I bite my lip, embarrassed at how foolish he's making me sound. I drop my fork with a clatter and fix him with a defiant glare.

"Look. I just had lunch with the guy. That's all there is too it. We barely spoke then and we didn't speak for the rest of the day."

Benton holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Tyla, chill. It's fine. It might do you good to have an ally, I just didn't think you were the type."

For some reason this upsets me more than being reprimanded, and I narrow my eyes defensively.

"It was lunch. That's all it was, ok? Lunch. We are not allies, we are not friends."

"Maybe he's not your friend." Peyton says softly. "But he's not just the boy from 10 anymore, is he?"

A lump appears in my throat that I can't swallow, as this is exactly what I had feared; that he has turned himself from a nameless entity into someone with meaning. I can tell from her face that she doesn't approve of me giving myself some sort of attachment to another tribute, and for some reason her disapproval is something I greatly fear. I stare at her fretfully, scanning her unyielding eyes for a sign of any sort of emotion at all until Benton leans forwards, forcing me to make eye contact with him. When I do, he fixes his gaze on me, his eyes uncharacteristically serious.

"Look, Tyla, don't worry about it. It doesn't matter who you have lunch with. And this boy might prove to be a valuable ally."

"I don't want any allies" I say immediately, and Benton shrugs.

"That's fine too. But as long as you don't give anything away to him, there's no harm in having lunch with him. Nico was just saying that so we didn't ask him what he had been doing."

Benton has placated me enough that I am able to pull my attention away from Caleb, and I frown.

"To be honest, I don't know what he was doing. I didn't see him all day."

My mentors exchange glances across the table; it's quick but I catch it, and my curiosity is piqued.

"Why? What's happened? Does it have something to do with why you were nearly late this morning?" I add, suddenly remembering, and Benton glances across at Peyton with a shrug.

"I guess it doesn't matter you knowing. Nico didn't want to go to the training room."

This makes so little sense that I'm sure I must have heard him wrong. The training room is Nico's last chance to give himself any chance of surviving the games; there isn't a single reason why he shouldn't be desperate to go, and I blink at Benton in confusion as I shake my head.

"Didn't want to go? Why?"

Benton sighs as he leans back in his chair.

"He told me he didn't need skills, that he didn't intend to go to training as he had a plan that meant he didn't need to."

I raise my eyebrows. "A plan? What kind of plan?" I ask, and Benton shrugs.

"He didn't say. Shame, because I could have told him what a fool he was being. Plans won't help him in the arena; his only chance is to keep himself alive as long as he can. Survival training is the best thing for a no hoper like him. Normally the tributes are chomping at the bit to train, grabbing at the chance to learn anything that might keep them alive, but with this kid I had to literally force him to go. I don't get it."

He breaks off suddenly, and I notice Peyton has fixed her gaze on him. Her expression is blank and unreadable to me, but Benton has worked with her for so long that he must know her well, and it seems to mean something to him. Stop talking, probably; even though this has told me nothing about Nico other than he is more foolish that I thought, I imagine she is still trying to ensure I don't get some sort of unfair advantage.

From his usual place at the head of the table, Xavier clears his throat in the silence and begins telling an anecdote about the year he had to stop his tributes from sneaking into the gym after hours to train. I only half listen- my mind is on Nico and his unwillingness to go to the training room. At least it explains why I didn't see him- he likely holed himself up in a corner somewhere and waited for the hours to pass. I still don't understand his reasons though- any sane tribute would never forgo their last chance to learn these things, potentially their only chance of survival. He has a plan, Benton said, but what kind of plan? It must be good if he thinks accruing skills is pointless, as whatever happens, he will need to know how to stay alive.

After I have finished my dinner I'm intrigued enough to consider going to his room and asking him what kind of plan he has in mind, but I doubt he will tell me, and I don't want to look like I'm trying to get involved in what I'm sure is a foolish idea. I'm still too angry with him anyway, for exposing my lunch with Caleb in the manner he did. Benton may say it doesn't matter, but I still feel like it's made me look weak, and I can't help but resent Nico for mentioning it.

I put him out of my head as I reach my room and pull out the notebook Xavier gave me, flinging myself into my bed. I'm intending to list all the wild food I was taught today, but the page falls open on my tribute list and my eyes can't help but scan down to District 10, to Caleb. It seems strange that he has spoken to me since I wrote this, that I have a shadow of personality to affix to it, turning it from simple letters to an actual name with meaning.

My pen reaches out idly and underlines his name before I realise what I've done, and it surprises me, as I can't figure out what purpose it can serve. My eyes pan up to Onyx's name, the star beside it marking him as a potential threat, and I'm tempted to put a big black tick through it, confirming beyond doubt the danger he holds to me. Just then there is a knock, and I look up as Benton enters, closing the door behind him.

Seeing him in this confined space highlights just how big he is, and he dominates my room, his presence making it look immediately smaller. I close my notebook quickly, not wanting to him to see that I have highlighted Caleb's name since I can't explain it, not even to myself, and he raises his eyebrows.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting..." he trails off as I shake my head.

"Not at all. I was just going over my training."

I can't figure out if I'm giving myself an excuse or trying to impress him, but I can't tell if I'm successful either way as he simply gives an impassive nod, folding his arms as he looks at me.

"I wanted to speak to you about Caleb. I get the impression you wish we didn't know."

He knows his name now, I notice, so he must have looked him up. Weirdly, I find I want him to be impressed with him. I push this aside and shrug.

"I don't know, I didn't really think about it. I guess I knew Peyton wouldn't approve," I add, and Benton sighs as he lowers himself into the chair beside my door.

"It's not so much she doesn't approve, it's just that she's doing her best to keep you alive. In order to do his she has her rules, and trust nobody is a big one."

I nod, shamefaced that I ignored her, but he smiles as me. "Don't look like that. I didn't say she was necessarily right."

I look at him in surprise and he shrugs.

"Maybe she is, and it is true that you need to learn to be self-reliant, as the nature of the games dictates that you will end up alone eventually. But I happen to think that having some capable allies can be the thing that gives you an edge. It worked for me."

I start at this unexpected news. "You were in an alliance?" I ask, and he nods.

"Saved my life, that's for sure. I wouldn't be standing here otherwise. I would have suggested it to you, but you didn't seem the type. More of a lone wolf I guess."

He grins at me and I smile back, feeling strangely overcome with relief at his admission. I don't know why, as an alliance has never been something I have considered, and Benton nods when I tell him this.

"Yea, I figured as much. But don't be surprised if you find yourself doing things you never thought you would consider. The games are like nothing you could ever be prepared for; you can't really plan ahead, you just have to act, and react. Peyton and I can advise you, but in the end you have to make your own decisions. You'll be on your own."

I nod slowly. "Yea, that's why Peyton told me to trust nobody. An alliance would be the last thing she would consider."

This bothers me, as I had always thought myself similar to Peyton, but Benton raises his eyebrows at me and gives me a meaningful look.

"Don't be so sure." It takes me a moment to process this, but when my brain catches up I gape at him in astonishment.

"Peyton? She had an alliance? Really?"

Benton wrinkles his nose. "'More an ally than an alliance" he says, but either way the news makes her reaction all the more bizarre. "Then why is she so against it?" I ask, and Benton sighs.

"This is one of those decisions where her advice comes from the heart, not the head. She always preaches solitude as she thinks the alternative will be too hard."

I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach as the implications of what he is saying become clear, and although I'm not sure I want to know, I can't help but ask.

"Why, what happened?"

I'm almost afraid to hear the answer as Benton looks up at me gravely.

"She killed him. To win. And I don't think she's ever got past it."

I let out a slow breath as her severe reaction clicks into place. What was so surprising a few moments ago suddenly makes more sense as I try and comprehend the reality of working with someone, fighting beside them, only to watch the life fade from their eyes at your hand. I can understand now why she thinks that total solitude is the more agreeable alternative.

"Right."

It seems inadequate but I can't think of anything else to say. Fortunately Benton seems to understand this as he swiftly glosses over the solemn shift in mood, changing the conversation back to the present and away from the sad reality of Peyton's actions all those years ago.

"She would probably agree with me that an alliance improves your chances of winning, but she's also right that it makes it all the worse of you do."

I look up at him. "Did you kill yours?" I ask, and he shakes his head quickly.

"No. We split off when there were less of us. But it was unspeakably hard to walk away from them knowing at least two of us would die. And….I could have saved one of them. And I didn't."

Now I really don't know what to say. Seeing them as mentors, as champions, it's so hard to remember that they too once sat where I was, unsure they would be alive in a few days' time, knowing the only way to ensure they were was the death of their friends. The victors are so showered with glory it can be easy to forget the steps they took to get there, and I've been reminded all too harshly of the truth of the games, the reality of being in that arena. I swallow into the silence as Benton clears his throat, once again moving us on from these dark past events.

"Like I said, I still think it's worth considering if you want to. Peyton told me not too consider it the same as she told you, but I followed my instincts, and I know I would be dead if I hadn't. I would have told you all this before, but like I said, I didn't think an alliance was your thing."

"You mean you didn't think I was capable of making friends" I say, voicing my insecurity from earlier, and he raises his eyebrows.

"Not at all" he says. "I don't mean that. I mean...you're focused. You have the look of a winner. Truth be told, you're the most promising tribute we've had in years, and believe me, Peyton appreciates that as much as I do. It can get...difficult, training tributes year after year just to watch them die. Would be nice to have one come back. Less painful."

It derails me to hear the normally light-hearted Benton say something so serious, and in such a grave manner, and I turn my head away. It had never occurred to me, how difficult it must be to put all your effort into someone, year after year, just to have them come back to you in a box. It explains why Peyton is so focused, so methodical in her approach, and why she is worried about me attaching myself to Caleb. But she has nothing to worry about, I think suddenly. I have no attachment to Caleb, nor he to me- there's no reason for any of this. The thought brings me back to the present and I shake my head suddenly.

"This whole thing is ridiculous. I have no intention of forming an alliance with anyone, it was just lunch."

Benton shrugs as he stands up. "That's fair enough, but I wanted to make sure you didn't feel strange about it. Besides, we are your mentors; our job is to advise you about every aspect of the games, every possibility, every potential strategy. Figured it was worth knowing even if you never speak to the guy again."

This makes sense, and I suddenly worry I've sounded ungrateful. I stand up awkwardly and bite my lip. "Thanks." I say. "For the advice. I appreciate anything you can tell me, really I do. Anything at all."

He smiles. "That's what I'm here for. Besides, it's nice to have someone who actually wants my advice."

He raises an eyebrow, referring to Nico, and I roll my eyes.

"Yea. I don't get it. Right now all the energy I have is focused on…you know…..staying alive."

I hate the way that sounds, and I trail off, unsure what else to say. Benton steps forward and places both hands on my shoulders, locking his famous deep green eyes onto mine.

"Listen kiddo. Whatever happens, you've got a good head on your shoulders. You're smarter than any career I've ever seen, and you should never underestimate that. Caleb would be lucky to have you."

His words ring truer than Xavier's false hope, and I can't help but feel a warm glow in my chest as I break into an awkward smile. This is why, despite my usual distain for the opinions of others, I'm always eager for Benton's approval; he has a way of making you feel like you're the sole focus of his world when he talks to you, and his charming compliments are addictive. I can see why he was so popular in his own games. As if on cue, his famous grin breaks across his face and he winks at me, the Benton bravado back in place, before turning and leaving the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Despite the events of the day crowding my brain and making falling asleep problematic, my mind is surprisingly clear and focused when I wake up. Benton is right; there is little point planning anything, as what happens in the arena is something I can't prepare for. This realisation makes me realise that all my anxiety from the previous day has vanished, and suddenly all I'm interested in is getting back to my training. I'm unsure what to do about Caleb, as regardless of the advice of my mentors I still do not feel like I want an ally, but I have figured this too is out of my hands, and that whether I see him or not I will not read any meaning into it.

Despite this, as I arrive in the training room I find myself looking for him. As much as I hate to admit it he has made himself significant, and this has as much to do with his being the sole topic of conversation during my evening yesterday as his resemblance to Darin. This similarity is irritating me, because it's made him more than just a stranger to me, more than just another tribute. It's set him apart from the others in my head, given me an unnecessary attachment to him, has caused my brain to assign him a familiarity he has not earned. I can tell myself he is just another tribute, but it does not stop my heart leaping when the lift doors open and he steps out, and I quickly turn my head away and focus my attention back on my current task- building a fire.

After my day of failings yesterday I couldn't resist starting the day with something a little more close to home, and starting a fire is something I have done many times before in the District. The trainer is full of praise, showing me more elaborate ways that I am used to as I excel at the simple methods, and I am enjoying being good at something again. I'm reluctant to leave the stand, but I know I am supposed to be learning, not indulging my own vanity, and so I eventually admit I have spent too long reminding myself I am capable and move on to the camouflage table. This serves its purpose; I am immediately plummeted back into the pit of futility in which I was floundering yesterday, and soon I am gritting my teeth in frustration, attempting to mix leaves and berries to replicate the dark green of the bush I have been told to attempt to disguise myself in. I am less than hopeless, and I find myself longing for the lunch gong to ring as I despairingly hold my arm against the bush, noting that the colour I have made it actually makes it more obvious that if I had left it as it was.

"Wow. No wonder I haven't seen you all morning, you blend right in."

I turn my head as Caleb's voice makes my stomach jump; he is standing beside me, a smile sneaking through his deadpan sarcasm.

"Yea, I've finally found something I'm great at. Try not to feel threatened," I fire back, and his face breaks into a wide smile.

"I'll be watching my back the entire time. No way I'll see you coming."

I laugh, noting that when he smiles, the creases around his eyes make them even warmer. "You want to try and do better?" I challenge, and he folds his arms.

"No chance. I attempted this yesterday, and all joking aside, I make you look like an expert. I would be better disguised standing in the centre of the Cornucopia."

"I'll know where to look then," I reply, and he grins at me, turning his head as the gong sounds before turning back to me and raising an eyebrow.

"Ready for lunch? Or are you enjoying yourself too much to tear yourself away?"

"Trust me, I have never been more ready for lunch."

I sigh, wiping my pathetic attempt at camouflage from my arm before we both follow the other tributes towards the food hall. I fall into step beside him as we walk, and though we are both silent, I note there's none of the awkwardness from yesterday. I'm surprised to see that already we have seemingly found a kind of comfort zone, and even more surprised that I am relieved at his assumption that we would be having lunch again. It's curious, to be enjoying company instead of avoiding it; despite my determination not to engage he's already got me talking. Something about him loosens my resolve, and even though I barely know him, I already feel weirdly at ease. But then Caleb is such good company, so easy to be around; his light hearted self-deprecation makes our situation somehow more bearable, and in spite of myself I'm glad of his presence.

We fill our plates as before, and as we take our seats I notice Caleb has copied my actions from yesterday and piled his plate with meat and fish. I try to be irritated that he has stolen my strategy, but as he glances at me and smiles I find it impossible to be annoyed with him. His mentors would do him well to advise him to make his strategy likable, which makes his choice to associate with me more curious, as likeable is about the last strategy I would be able to use. I'm still at a loss as to what strategy I could possibly pull off, but I know that none of them would make me as attractive as Caleb; he has a friendliness and charisma that makes him almost magnetic, and I know that if I was an observer in this year's games it's him I would be rooting for. The realisation that I would want him to win if I were not up against him makes me uncomfortable, and as I watch him, waiting for this feeling to pass, he glances up at me and swallows his food, leaning forward earnestly.

"Tyla, you have to tell me something. And tell me the truth, because this has been driving me nuts."

I'm startled by his sudden seriousness and I nod warily as he continues.

"Are your living quarters on 7 mediocre or is my escort lying about floor 10 being far superior to all the others?"

I am thrown by his observation, identical to my own suspicion about Xavier's similar comment, and I immediately burst into loud laughter. Caleb laughs too, and when I eventually manage to collect myself I notice the entire room is staring at us. I find I am not as bothered by this as I was yesterday and ignore them, grinning at Caleb.

"My escort said the same thing. Exactly the same thing. I'd been given the impression you were all squatting under rocks."

Caleb smiles. "I suspected as much. Hardly paradigms of honesty and truth are they, these Capitol people?"

I shake my head. "I gave the lot of them up as implausible when my stylist told me I looked like a vision during the parade."

Caleb's eyes widen and he stares at me. "You did! My stylist is the one who was stretching the truth there, she assured me I looked like a rebellious outlaw!"

He pulls a horrified expression and I can't help but laugh as I recall his heinous outfit.

"Your outfit definitely should have been illegal," I chuckle, and he rolls his eyes.

"She said the look she was going for was cowboy fleeing from justice, but what she couldn't explain was why a dangerous fugitive would have cups stuck to his hands."

His bizarre hoof gloves flash across my eyes and I'm forced to put down my cutlery as I'm laughing so hard. When I manage to compose myself I glance over at him and he raises his eyebrows indignantly.

"I don't think it's fair that you get to laugh, you managed to emerge from it looking amazing! You couldn't understand the depths of my humiliation!"

I laugh again softly, but my mind has fixed itself pathetically on his previous comment. He thought I looked amazing. I find I am unable to keep myself from smiling as he begins to recount his vain attempts to reason with his stylist over her bizarre hybrid outfit choice, and it's an unusual feeling. I don't recall the time I smiled for so long, and I realise with a start I never have. How curious, that the longest period of happiness I recall should occur during my preparation for my death. And it wouldn't have been the case if I hadn't met Caleb. I realise he is looking at me expectantly, as if he's just asked me a question, and I shake myself out of my daze.

"Sorry?"

"I said how old are you?" he repeats, and he nods as I tell him. "I figured about that, you're far too strong to be much younger."

I accept the compliment and ask him his own age; he's 18, which I could have guessed. He is far too well built to be a boy; he is practically a man already, likely towering over his own father. I feel an urge to ask him about his family, but then I recall his immediate withdrawal yesterday when I quizzed him on his fellow tribute. Unsurprisingly it seems that home is not an easy subject for him, and I don't want to risk his mood dropping again like before, so I sit and say nothing, listening as he talks, wondering if his charm will come across on screen, making the audience lavish him with sponsors and gifts.

_If anyone could do it would be him_, I think, idly glancing around the room at the other tributes. Granted I haven't spoken to them, but none of them are as attractive as he is, and even before I spoke to him I could tell he was more magnetic and charismatic than the others. As I am looking around my eyes suddenly lock on the girl from District 10, and to my surprise she is looking at me. Rhona, Caleb said her name was. She's as unremarkable as he is remarkable; not tall but not short, not strong but not skinny, not ugly but not pretty. She's just...there.

She holds my gaze for a moment and then looks away, and it's then that I realise with surprise that she's sitting with a group of tributes. It seems that Caleb and I have started a trend, but if an alliance is his plan he's chosen badly, as the tributes Rhona is sitting with make up a solid chunk of my potential threat list; his time would be far better spent over there. I wonder if he's noticed? I turn my eyes back to him and start as I realise he is watching me, his face suddenly serious. I watch as he hesitates before leaning towards me.

"Tyla, listen..."

His voice is low and faltering, but just then the gong sounds and he turns his head, distracted. I glance around as the other tributes stand up and begin moving back out of the room, and then look back at him. To my surprise he is standing up too, his plate in hand, grinning down at me.

"Back to it then. I wonder if I can find a way to be any worse?"

All trace of seriousness has left his face, and I blink in surprise at his sudden change of tone as I stand up too.

"Probably" I say, too confused to think of anything better as I follow him from the room. He casts a final parting smile at me, and I am left staring after him in confusion, wondering exactly it was he had wanted to say. I guess I'm not going to find out, and eventually I admit defeat and walk in the opposite direction, my eyes scanning for a stand to try out.

I am just contemplating trying my hand at the slingshots when I spot the bow and arrow stand, and realise I haven't been forbidden from these. It's not weapons in general I can't touch, just those I am proficient at, and I've never picked up a bow in my life. My pace quickens as I walk towards the stand, eager to try something that could actually do some damage, but it turns out I shouldn't have been so excited as it's clear before I've even made my first shot that I'm utterly useless. Under the frustrated direction of the trainer I struggle to string the bow, but it's so unwieldy, so difficult to fathom controlling a small stick on a fine wire. I manage to get it on, just, and pull back, focusing my eyes in line as I have been told, before letting my arrow fly. I may have well have had my eyes shut; it barely clears 30 yards before clattering to the ground a few feet short of the target and I curse, furious at my terrible performance.

The trainer attempts to correct my stance but I'm too frustrated to focus, and whilst I follow his advice my arrow once again falls short. I curse again, my face flushing with exertion and shame as I try once again to master this talent that evades me, and I take my aggression out in my lip, chewing hard as I string up and attempt to focus my aim. I'm sure I'm doing better, and am just about to let go when arms wrap around me from behind, clamping my hands tighter to the bow and lifting its direction slightly. _Caleb._

My heart immediately begins pounding at his proximity, but I force myself to focus and let the arrow fly. To my surprise it makes contact with the target; the edge, but still a vast improvement, and I beam. I turn to voice my thanks, but the words catch in my throat as I find myself looking not at Caleb but the towering figure of Kirin, the boy from District 11. I stare at him in shock for a moment before getting myself together.

"Thanks," I say in surprise, looking up at him, and he simply nods, his face impassive as he takes up his own bow and fires off a few arrows. He doesn't say anything and nor do I, simply turn back to the target to focus again, this time forming myself in the stance Kirin perfected. I hit the target again, and whilst I'm still far from good, most of my subsequent arrows at least hit the coloured circle. I feel my heart pounding, both pleased with my improved performance and confused as to why Kirin would help me; his intervention makes even less sense than Caleb's attempts to befriend me. I'm dying to know why but I dare not ask, dare not even look his way, and when the gong eventually rings the end of the day and I'm forced to put down my new toy, I'm relieved to see that he's gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Kirin's strange intervention is still playing on my mind as I ride the lift back to our floor and take my seat at the dinner table, and as a result I give short, distracted answers to my mentor's questions. Yes, I leant new talents. No, I wasn't very good. And no, I didn't start on any careers today. I smile at Benton for this question and then cast my eyes over at Nico, wondering if he saw Kirin approach me, if he was as confused as I was. If he did witness it then he doesn't say anything, silently stacking his plate as usual and rising to leave for his room before Peyton's voice stops him in his tracks.

"Nico. How is your training going?"

He looks at her warily and shrugs. "Ok. Fine," he says, but his short answer doesn't put her off and she gestures to his seat.

"Sit down a moment." He grudgingly complies and she leans forward, steepling her fingers.

"You've been visiting the sites Benton suggested?" she asks, and he shrugs, nodding. "And you feel like you've learned something useful?" Peyton persists, and Nico shrugs and nods again; his lack of enthusiasm is grinding on _me_, so I can't imagine what it must be like for our mentors. Peyton looks as impassive as ever, but one glance at Benton tells me he's irritated; his eyes are cast down to his plate but he looks tense, his jaw clenched.

"Is there anything you think you want to try and improve at?"

Nico shrugs, then since Peyton is waiting for an answer he replies with the shortest one he has; "No." Benton bristles beside me as Peyton perseveres.

"Do you have any questions about the instructions Benton gave you? Any questions in general, any sort of ideas you want to discuss?"

"What's the point. I'm not going to win" snaps Nico suddenly, his usually sullen voice brittle and angry. Peyton nods slowly.

"It's unlikely, obviously, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. After all, you don't know what the arena could hold, what may happen, what you could do-"

"I can't do anything."

Nico cuts Peyton off angrily. "Nothing. It doesn't make a difference what's in the arena, I just can't do it. It's impossible."

"I did it and I was the same age as you are now. Peyton did it and she was younger than you. It's not impossible."

Benton makes me jump as he speaks across me; his voice is hard, and his usually warm, amused eyes are cold and angry. Nico flings his hands in the air in frustration.

"Not possible for _me_ then! You know it! So why try?"

Peyton leans forward, her gaze fixed on Nico, cutting off Benton's intake of breath as he prepares to snap back.

"Just because you think you can't is no reason to give up. You should still be fighting, Nico. Let us help you-"

"Why?" Nico cuts her off again, and I'm shocked at the savagery in his voice.

"Why do you want to help me? You don't need me! You have your potential champion right there."

He points at me and I start, my heart leaping at suddenly being the centre of attention.

"You're pinning District 7's chances on her and you know it, so why are you trying to change my mind? The less time you spend on me, the more time you have for her. You shouldn't be annoyed, you should be grateful. Thanks to me, District 7 may have a victor this year."

He storms from the room, leaving his food untouched on the table, and nobody speaks or tries to stop him. The table is silent, and despite myself I can't help but think Nico is right; they have been focused on me. Benton said as much to me yesterday, and he may be thinking the same thing as his anger has waned into what looks like a combination of exasperation and guilt. He sees me looking at him and clears his throat, taking a swig of his drink.

"That boy needs his head looking at; he has no sense at all. He'll be dead in a minute."

"He's just scared." Peyton replies with uncharacteristic sensitivity. "We all were, once."

I raise my eyebrows slightly. The idea of them ever being afraid is still one I struggle with; they're the victors, the glorious winners, and that's all they've ever been to me. The picture that was first painted in my mind by Benton, of them as frightened children being sent to the games, uncertain if they will return, is so foreign I still can't wrap my head around it.

"There's no room for fear," Benton says. "You've said it yourself a hundred times. How can you make allowances for him?" Peyton shrugs.

"I didn't say it would make him win. I said it was understandable, not sensible."

Benton rolls his eyes, pushing his chair back and standing up.

"Great, just what we needed. Another tribute with no sense."

He stalks from the room, followed immediately but less dramatically by Peyton, and I glance over at my remaining tablemate Xavier, who as usual is quietly sipping his soup. For someone capable of being so loud and flamboyant he tends to remain strangely understated in private. I wonder if he's keeping his thoughts to himself for reasons of decorum or if he just isn't remotely interested; I imagine it's the first one, as his conversations always seem to be focused on good etiquette, and as if on cue he gently places down his spoon, patting his lips delicately with his napkin as he sighs at me.

"I do wish people would excuse themselves before leaving the table, don't you?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh yea. Drives me nuts." I respond sardonically, and he either ignores or is ignorant to my sarcasm, as his response is his wide escort beam. He neatly lines his cutlery in the centre of his bowl and stands up.

"Do excuse me Tyla. Enjoy the remainder of your meal" he sings in his sunny Capitol voice before sailing from the room. I watch his shimmering ruby coat sweep out of the door with amusement, but my smile fades when my thoughts transfer to Nico. Scared, silly Nico, fighting the only people trying to keep us alive. I don't like to think of him as being afraid; it's just easier to see all the tributes as emotionless opponents I am tasked to eliminate, but that's ridiculous. Of course he's afraid, everyone is. Even I am, despite being exactly where I planned to be. I feel a wash of sympathy for him, and despite the fact I that I would have no idea what to say I am just contemplating going to speak to him when he enters the room.

I'm surprised he's come back, and I notice he is hesitant, checking the room for the occupants. He doesn't look pleased to see me, but I guess I am preferable to the others as he does not turn away, settling instead for ignoring me as he walks up to the table to collect his food. At least he's still following the first piece of advice Benton gave us and eating. I think back to that first night on the train, when I was so focused in asking the right questions, getting my game plan right; the only question I remember Nico asking is how to stay alive. I wonder when he changed his mind and decided not to even try. I refuse to believe that somewhere in there he isn't that same boy who, just a few days ago, was at least planning on _attempting_ to survive. He can't have changed that much in just a few days, surely; but then, only moments ago, I was contemplating talking to him, actually trying to comfort him, so I guess it is possible to change. Peyton said the games would make you do things you never thought possible, and in my case it seems that this involves thinking about someone other than myself. With this in mind, I clear my throat as he picks up his plate.

"Nico, think for a moment. Where we're going the odds will be stacked against us, and our mentors are our best chance to stay alive. However uninterested you are now, you might regret it when we get in there. So let them do their job, let them help us."

Nico scoffs, looking at me witheringly.

"Please. They aren't helping _us_, they're helping _you_. Don't tell me you haven't noticed- they've barely paid attention to me, right from the start. You're their golden girl; they haven't even bothered with me. They've written me off."

His short reaction to my attempt at reconciliation hits a nerve, and despite my good intentions I find myself snapping back at him.

"Well are you surprised? You've hardly given them a reason to help; you've been moping around since the start! How are they supposed to help you win if you make it clear you don't even want to try?"

Nico widens his eyes indignantly. "They aren't supposed to help me win! How many times do I have to say it? I don't need their help. And I don't need to try. 23 of us are going to die, so at least one of us has to accept it! Why are you arguing this anyway? The sooner I die, the better your chance of winning."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be silly. I want you to at least try to live, same as I will. And I understand there's more chance of us dying than winning, but that doesn't mean you have to go in there as a human target! It doesn't make any sense to not at least prepare yourself, to have a plan!"

Nico's eyes flash and a curious look comes over his face. He lifts his plate and fixes his eyes on me meaningfully.

"I do have a plan. A plan which means I'll survive the games without any need to train, or prepare, or suck up to the idiots from the Capitol. I'm not as dumb as you think, you know. You've all decided I'm so inferior; just you wait and see what I've got in store."

With that, he spins on his heel and strides triumphantly from the room, leaving me to stare after him in amazement and wonder how anyone can be so in denial. He really thinks he has a plan that can outsmart the capital? One that hasn't been attempted and failed before by a tribute a thousand times more prepared than he is; a tribute who knew better than to disregard the training if it was their only chance of living, instead of coming up with an idiotic survival scheme? This plan must be the one he mentioned to Benton, but whatever it is, however great he believes it will be, I fail to see how it can eliminate the need for preparation. For all his indignation, all he's done is prove that he's exactly a dumb as I thought he was.

I shake my head in amazement, and am just reaching for a wedge of the softest, spongiest looking cake I've ever seen when I spot a person in grey hovering just out of my periphery, and I turn my head just in time to see one of the Capitol servants vanish behind the wall. He's obviously waiting to clear up, and despite the fact that nobody would argue it is my right to eat my fill in my last few days alive, I suddenly feel irrationally guilty. Perhaps because, despite their presence in the Capitol, they seem just as downtrodden as we are- they keep their heads down constantly and are never addressed directly by anybody. Unable to resist, I grab the cake quickly and stand up.

"Sorry, I'm done now" I call, but there's no response, which is unsurprising since I've never actually heard any of them speak. Maybe they aren't allowed, which weirdly makes me feel like my situation may be preferable to theirs. I recall my thoughts about Caleb yesterday, how I wondered if it was harder to be surrounded by food and be denied it, and wonder if it is the same for these silent grey creatures, so unlike all the other residents of the Capitol. I imagine many of the residents of District 7 would trade with them in a moment, but would it be harder to live in the Capitol but be forced to serve, to see all the possible splendours of the world right in front of you but be forbidden them, forbidden seemingly to even speak? I imagine it would, and find myself in the strange position of contemplating that life for some people might be harder beyond the District walls. It's a curious notion, and one that refuses to assimilate to the preconceived notions in my brain, so I shake it aside and walk back to my room, picking at the cake as I do. As I expected it's delicious; sweet, light and powdery with a soft lemony sponge and sharp, citrusy icing. I walk into my room, cramming the last mouthful in, and as I do notice Peyton seated by the door. She stands up as I enter and I swallow hurriedly as she waits for me to finish.

"I was still hungry," I say, weirdly inclined to explain myself, but Peyton simply gives a disinterested smile.

"So, Tyla. You've been following all my instructions as agreed? Only approaching new talent stands?"

I nod, sinking onto the edge of my bed as she sits back in the seat, her gaze focused on me. "Yes. Although it feels like a waste of time; I've barely learned a thing, and what I did learn I was terrible at."

I let out a sigh of exasperation at the memory of my less than inspiring performance as Peyton raises an eyebrow.

"Surely it would have been more of a waste of time to practice skills you already possess? Not to mention giving away your talents to the others. For that reason alone it was time well spent, and you never know, what you did learn may be useful to you."

Once again Peyton is correct, and I am forced to accept that, despite my frustration over the last two days, her guidance was, as ever, exactly right. She straightens up and folds her arms, assessing me.

"So you'll have tomorrow morning to train, then lunch. During your lunch they'll begin calling you out, on by one, boy then girl, starting with District 1. You'll go back out into the gymnasium and this will be your chance to demonstrate your skills; everything you've told me you can do, they need to know you can do it. You will have ample time, but if you dawdle they'll lose interest- highlight your best skills as fast as you can without making any mistakes. You need to be as impressive as you possibly can, show them exactly what you're capable of so it is reflected in your score."

My score. It's solely for the Capitol's benefit, so I want to tell myself it doesn't matter to me, but I know it does. The Gamemakers will assign me a score between 1 and 12 based on my capabilities, skills and my predicated performance in the arena; this serves mainly to allow the Capitol audience to make bets, but more importantly for me it can encourage sponsors. I run my mind back over Peyton's instructions and nod slowly.

"Ok. So I just walk in and go to a stand?"

Peyton shakes her head.

"The training stands will have been removed. The weapons will be placed together in the centre of the room, and the remainder of the room will be as it was. Just walk in, stand in front of the Gamemakers platform and introduce yourself; say your name and your District, and then show your talents to the best of your abilities. Be quick, be impressive and do the absolute best you are capable of, and once they've completed their assessment they'll dismiss you. Do not speak to them until this happens and do not leave before it does."

I nod as I commit her words to memory. "It sounds simple enough- stay quiet and don't screw up." I say, and Peyton smiles as she gets to her feet.

"Pretty much. You'll be fine- you're talented, and you have a lot to impress them with. Don't over-think it, just go out there, and if you're as good as you say you are you'll know what to do."

I can't help but smile. She's reiterated the importance of tomorrow and then thrown out the instruction not to over-think as a parting shot. Fat chance- it's the only thing on my mind, and as I get ready for bed my brain is racing with possibilities, running through the weapons I haven't been allowed to touch, trying to figure out how to show them what I can do, get a score that reflects what I am capable of. A score that makes all that time in the woods worthwhile. I have to do well. I have to. For as much as I remind myself this score is only for the Capitol, so they can choose whose life to bet on, I can't help but imbue it with personal meaning. Score high and I show myself- and everyone else- that my years of work were worth it, that I am good for something. Score low and I'm exactly what everyone expected me to be- another nobody from the Community home, another unremarkable, nameless tribute, destined to die and unable to do anything about it.


	15. Chapter 15

Whilst I never particularly expected the games to be enjoyable, I had imagined that I might somewhat enjoy the training, given that I've spent my whole life doing it. The opposite has been true, however, and although it leaves just two days until I step into the arena, I find I am relieved that it's the final day that I will be prevailed upon to join the other tributes in the gym. I've learnt nothing except how terrible I truly would have been without all my prior preparation, and it's actually making me feel sorry for the tributes who don't stand a chance, the ones that I've seen as expendable. I don't have time to feel bad for them, though- now is not the time to get an attack of conscience. Their lack of skill can only be good for me, so I push them from my mind as I struggle once again to cast out a fishing line.

I've chosen to spend my last morning fishing, a section I've been avoiding and a section I should have headed to much, much earlier, as like the plants and insects, it's a talent which totally evades me. Despite this I've been deliberately postponing it- in spite of my self-imposed swimming lessons, being in the water still feels unnatural to me, and although I will not be submerged, seeing people wading ankle deep in the water with spears is enough to cause my pulse to flutter. Despite this I've admitted defeat, and have spent the morning proving that, as with archery, my talents do not lie with wielding a string on a stick. I fling the line forward, failing to understand why it isn't replicating the actions of the trainer; she smiles at me patiently, all Capitol manners, but I can tell she is thinking the same thing.

"Shall we leave the rod for a while? You look more like a spear kind of girl anyway."

She gently tugs the rod from me, and I can't hold back a smile as she places a spear in my hands. She's gesturing at the pool as she begins talking me through the methodology, but I barely hear her, still relishing the feel of the spear in my grasp. The muscles in my arm are already waking up, clenching and tightening as I turn the weapon in my hands, and I almost feel sorry for them. _False alarm guys_, I want to say. _This is not the spear you're used to_. I snap to attention as she ushers me towards the water and a flicker of apprehension passes through me as I step into the shallow pool.

It's warm, and only knee height, but this doesn't matter to me, and as the liquid laps at my legs I feel my pulse rise. She's gesturing at the fish swimming unsuspectingly around my feet, but for some reason I can't move; I've forced myself to swim so many times, but here, in front of an audience, with so many people to see me fail, I suddenly feel trapped. I don't like that I've been told to get in here, don't like that I feel like I can't get out, and I'm furious at my weakness, that a stand that isn't slightly connected to danger has caused me to behave so foolishly. I clench my hands tight round the spear, willing myself to lift it, to at least try to spear a fish in front of the waiting trainer, but I can't- all I can feel is the water, all I can think of is how I want my feet on solid ground, and with a sudden burst of panic and frustration I step backwards out of the pool, shuddering at the feel of the water dripping down my legs as I discard my spear and turn away, my heart pounding in frustration.

I hear the trainer calling after me but I ignore her. I can't do it. I'm not going to fish anyway; I'll stick to land animals, and if there are none I'll just die quickly. I'm furious that once again I've managed to prove useless at something, and I walk as far away from the fishing stand as possible, my eyes darting around as I try to latch onto another stand. All I can see are ones I've already tried- and failed- at, and I can feel anger burning in my gut at my perceived uselessness. If the Gamemakers have been watching us train, if the trainers have been reporting on us, I am already behind in their estimations. The careers have not followed Peyton's rule; I have seen them every day on the hardest weapons and sites. So has Kirin, now I think about it- he was handy with that arrow and not afraid to show it. It is then that I lay eyes on the stand closest to me- the axes. With these frustrated thoughts running through my head, my feet take me there and before I know it I am standing at the axe range.

The trainer is occupied by the boy from 6, but I don't need his help. I know I am better than him- I can't not be. My fingers inch towards the largest axe and I let out a breath as I lift it, exalting in the feeling of its weight transferring to me. It's large, heavy, but I know I can wield it easily. I grasp the handle firmly as I look up towards the targets ahead, and then allow a quick glance either side. Nobody is watching me. _Just one_, I think. _To remind myself that I can do it_. My hands are already deciding for me, and they tighten around the handle as I step back, studying the target. My shoulders flex instinctively as I lift my arm, and before I can change my mind I've let the axe fly. It spins silently through the air, landing with a thud in the chest of the dummy at the exact second the gong rings out for lunch. The noise brings me back and I let out the tense breath I was holding.

_What was I thinking? _The most important piece of advice Peyton has given me and I disregard it in favour of appeasing my ego. If it weren't for the gong blocking the noise everyone would have heard, and then I couldn't have hidden my skill even if I should wish to. As it is, not even the trainer heard, and I send up a prayer of thanks as I step back from the stand. Despite my frustration that I was unable to resist my ego, I can't deny it has been appeased as my eyes run over the direct hit. I give a small smile of satisfaction as I turn away; a smile which quickly fades at the sight of Caleb standing behind me.

My stomach gives a dive as I look at him. He was watching me. He too is looking at the dummy, and as his gaze shifts slowly onto me my heart immediately begins to pound and a sick feeling settles in my stomach as we hold each other's gaze. Irrationally, my first thought is to beg him not to tell Peyton. My second is abject hostility. He knows my secret now- I've displayed my best talent to him, and this makes him my biggest threat. All these thoughts run through my head as we stare each other down, and as the silence builds Caleb eventually speaks.

"It's easy to forget, isn't it."

Whatever I was expecting him to say, it wasn't that, and my forehead wrinkles in confusion.

"What?"

He takes a step towards me as he nods around the room, gesturing at the stands.

"When we're just in here, playing with weapons and training and eating...it's easy to forget why. What we will have to do." He swallows and bites his lip. "That we have to kill people."

His eyes flicker quickly to the dummy and then rest on me.

"I guess you didn't forget."

I feel a strange jolt at his words, and there's a flash of something in his eyes I can't place, but it repels me. I feel heat flood my cheeks as I take in his accusing statement, resentment and shame flowing hot and cold through my body. He's judging me, I realise. Judging me for being trained to kill even though it's our whole purpose in being here. It's so unfair I want to cry, and to my horror I feel a tell-tale heat behind my eyes. I turn my head away quickly, blinking furiously to halt the bizarre onslaught of emotion, and then stiffen as Caleb catches my arm.

"I don't mean it like that... I mean..." He trails off, his voice contrite as realises I've taken it badly and tries to fix it. "At least you know you can," he says eventually.

His voice is low, and he sounds like he could be confiding something, but I'm not sure what. He pulls on my arm, trying to turn me back to face him, but I refuse to turn, refuse to show him my inexplicably emotional reaction.

"Look, forget it. Clumsy attempt at a compliment. Words were never my strong point," he adds, and I can't help but give a short laugh. Words are perhaps his strongest point, and I don't know if he's joking or oblivious but it's at least distracted my mind from my strange surge of emotion and enabled me to compose myself. I turn to walk away towards the dining room and he falls into step beside me.

"You not gonna eat with me now?" he enquires lightly, and I say nothing, keeping my gaze forward even as I know he is looking at me.

"Damn, just when I thought we were becoming friends."

He says it jokingly but there's a serious edge to his voice that goads a response from me.

"We're not friends," I reply sullenly and he sighs.

"Yea, getting that. Tyla, listen."

He swings in front of me suddenly and I stop, barely millimetres from his chest as he deliberately blocks my path, forcing me to look up at him as he plants his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye.

"I won't say anything, if that's what you're worried about. I wouldn't. Of course I wouldn't."

_Easy enough to say it_, I think, but I must believe him as the tense knot in my stomach has loosened. There's something overwhelmingly trustworthy about him, and as his deep brown eyes fix anxiously on mine I can't help but feel my worries abate. He's still waiting for a response so I nod slightly, shrugging him off and carrying on towards the hall.

"Tyla."

Something in his voice is so urgent I instantly turn, and he stares at me for a moment before swallowing hard, his mouth tripping over the words as he speaks. "Don't make me...I mean, I don't want to...it's the last time, before...don't make me eat by myself."

He trails off, his face almost pleading, and even before I've thought about it I know my answer. Because despite everything, he's right; I don't want to eat alone either. I give a resigned nod and relief flashes across his face as he falls back beside me and we both walk into the dining room.

* * *

For all his insistence that he didn't want to eat alone he may has well have; all we've done is sit in silence. We've been eating for a long time before I realise that neither of us has spoken, and I glance at him; like me he is staring at his plate, eating silently, his mood subdued. I don't know what I was expecting- his usually good humoured quips perhaps?- but whatever it was I get nothing, and I know why; there's a black, cold feeling in the air, and if I can feel it then he must too. Despite the fact that we don't go into the arena for a few days today feels very final, and I think it's because we are aware that the next time we see each other one to one, it will be because one of us is killing the other.

It's not just us, either; the whole room is silent. Even the careers aren't talking, I realise, but as I glance over at their table I'm surprised to see that it's empty. A frown crosses my face and I scan the room just in time to see a Gamemaker enter, scan the room and then beckon to my right. I watch as the girl from 5 rises to her feet and follows her. It's started already? I turn to Caleb to see if he noticed, and see that his eyes are also on the girl. I feel a quiver of nerves at the imminent talent show and duck my head back down to my plate, focusing on my food.

"I don't know if I'll be able to do it."

Caleb speaks so suddenly that it takes me a second to process it, and I look up in confusion as a frown settles on my face. "Do what?"

"You know, actually kill someone. A person." He exhales heavily. "I don't think I can."

I stare at him in surprise. Of all the things to be scared of, this makes the least sense. The fears that have been occupying my mind have been of hunger, the elements, of getting to weapons and shelter, and mostly of those hunting me, the people trying to kill me. I have given little thought to killing them, and it's such an obscure thing to worry about that I don't know to say. We have no choice. And even if we did, he would be in the minority if he chose not to fight, I'm sure of it. Fighting means survival- it has to become an instinct, not a choice, and everyone will be following that instinct, if they want to or not.

"They'll kill _you_ if you don't," I say, watching his face closely, and a pained expression crosses his features.

"I know that, believe me I really do. And perhaps when the time comes it will be different, but still. It doesn't seem possible. To kill another person...it's something I can't even consider."

It's incomprehensible to me that this perfectly able boy is struggling with his conscience. There are plenty of people here who would be physically incapable of killing, whether they wished to or not, and here he is worrying if his _mind_ will allow it. It's utterly unfathomable, and the last thing that would have crossed my mind. But then, I've had practice. The deer, the birds and rabbits and squirrels, every tree and boulder I ever hit was a human in my eyes. It made it easier, in fact, making it a human target rather than an object. I'm not sure what that says about me but I'm sure it can't be good. Briefly I wonder if there's something wrong with me, but then I disregard it. Of course there is. I'm questioning the sense of a boy who doesn't want to hunt and kill other people. There are so many things wrong with me I don't know where to begin. But whilst this may make Caleb the better person, it doesn't make his chances of survival good, and for some reason that really bothers me. I put down my fork and lean forward, locking his deep brown eyes with mine.

"Caleb, you have to consider it. And not it even that, you have to do it."

My voice suddenly urgent, and I don't want to question why it means so much to me that this boy I've known for only 3 days is able to look after himself. I brush it aside and continue.

"People will have to die if you are going to live, and if you don't get that you have no chance. You have to accept it and get over it."

I take a second to register the endless relevance of Peyton's advice as Caleb clasps his hands together shakily, his thumb picking nervously at the skin of his palm.

"I just...I can't. How can I? How can you?" he adds, darting an accusing look at me. I almost want to laugh. Of all things I thought I would be asked in the Hunger Games, how I'm able to deal with killing is not one, and the thought makes me mentally strike Caleb from my list of potential threats. What list this _does_ leave him on I don't know.

"I just know I don't have a choice. And nor do you. You have to deal with this now, before you get in the arena, because there will be nobody in there to do it for you. In the arena, you're in your own."

Caleb looks up at me, his mouth open to respond, and then stops as his eyes pass over my head. I don't have time to look at what's caught his attention before a voice cuts in from behind me.

"So I guess that means she's not in then?"

I turn in surprise to find myself looking into the ice cold eyes of Rhona, Caleb's District partner.


	16. Chapter 16

I blink up at Rhona, trying to process what she's saying as she stares back at me, her face cold and expressionless. She's surrounded by other tributes- Kirin and Jaya from 11 and Lisbeth from 9, and they are all giving me the same look.

"I hadn't actually asked yet Rhona." Caleb mutters from behind me, and I turn to look at him in confusion. He looks at me and opens his mouth to speak just as Jaya cuts across him, her tone mocking.

"What where you waiting for, the two of you to make it exclusive? You've had days!"

I shake my head, still trying to get a grasp of what's going on as I ignore Jaya and turn back to Rhona.

"He's had days to ask me what?" I ask calmly, and her eyes flick across to Caleb before she turns her attention to me.

"If you want to help us take the careers at their own game."

My eyes dart back across to the table that once held the careers, but instead I see Nico. He's being ushered to the door by a Gamemaker, and I realise with a start that he's staring directly at me. As we lock eyes he gives a quick, sharp shake of the head, and I don't have time to process it before he's gone, the door closes and I'm left with the knowledge that I'm next. But I can't think about it, can't worry about it, because I'm still trying to figure out what's going on.

"The careers?" I say, still programming, and Lisbeth nods.

"Our biggest threat, we know it. But we can get rid of them, even out the playing field."

_We can get rid of them_. I feel a cog click into place- they're talking about taking down the careers, and they want my help.

"Think about it 7."

Kirin's deep voice cuts in from behind me and a flash of understanding comes across me as I turn to him. "That's why? Why you helped me with the bow?"

He gives an imperceptible nod. "Figured we should help each other out. You're good 7. We could use you."

I'm good? How can he possibly think that? Jaya must be thinking the same as she scoffs at this.

"She's good? What exactly are we basing that on? I've seen her do nothing but fail for the last few days."

I feel a surge of anger and shame at the truth of her words, and am about to argue when Kirin snorts loudly.

"Don't be dense Jaya. Don't you see? It's what she wasn't using that tells us she's good. And she wasn't using anything."

Everyone turns to look at me and I flush, silently thinking I'll never question Peyton again. Not only do they not know what I can do, they now think I'm great at everything. Lisbeth is scanning me up and down, assessing me as Kirin pushes past her and sinks into the seat to my left, his eyes locked on mine. "We know you're good, 7, but the careers are better, and our best chance at taking them out is to team up."

Team up. I lick my lips slowly as their words finally sink in and scan the tributes standing around me, my eyes resting back on Rhona. "So what, you've been planning an alliance?"

She nods slowly. "Of sorts. An agreement, really." She says, glancing around at the others. "We work together, form a truce until we can take down the careers. After the last one is gone, we go our separate ways. After that, it's every man for themselves."

I run over the events of the past few minutes in my mind as I scan the group- my potential allies. They really think we can take the careers? Kirin is tough enough sure, but the others I had barely noticed. In fact, I'd written Rhona off entirely. My gaze falls back on her and she must see my hesitancy as she leans forward.

"However good you are, you can't take the careers on your own. Together we can."

I bite my lip, feeling a stab of uncertainty. Because this had always been my plan, at least as close to a plan as I got; to pick off the careers one by one until one of them caught up with me. Whilst it is true that a team would stand a better chance, I had never wanted anything but to be on my own, and I know Peyton would tell me that I was right. But Rhona's words are playing on my mind, and it makes me think of Benton, his insistence that he would have lost the game without an alliance, and I can't help but think he's right. I had never intended to win, never thought I could, but the lure of a chance, something other than certain death; it's hard to ignore. And, I'll admit it- the fact that they want me is appealing to my ego. The fact that, despite everything, they've seen more in me than a girl who can't fish.

I scan them again, biting my lip, and I see a flash of something in Rhona's eyes as she widens them expectantly. "Tyla, you have to tell us yes or no. Right now. We won't see each other again until the arena, so you can't consider it any longer."

She's right, but I still wish I could ask my mentors, just to assure me. It wouldn't do any good either way, though, as I know what their answers would be. Peyton would say no, definitely. Benton I'm not sure about, although he did say he would have recommended it to me, and as I think this his words to me suddenly leap into my head, clear as day- '_Saved my life, that's for sure. I wouldn't be standing here otherwise.'_ All further consideration is swept from my head as a primal urge takes over- to avoid death at all costs. It's like an animal instinct, and despite all my best laid plans, my intentions to go it alone, I can't deny that the safety net they are offering, the chance to prolong my life, is suddenly overwhelmingly attractive. The urge to live is so strong it's like a white noise that has blocked all other coherent thought from my head, and I'm opening my mouth to reply when Rhona speaks up again.

"Maybe if Caleb had done his job sooner you could have had more time to think about it, but we need an answer now."

She shoots a dark look at Caleb, which I immediately imitate. Bizarrely, I had forgotten he was there. He hadn't even been part of my considerations. Maybe that's because he's so hard to associate with this group of strangers I was about to agree to killing with. Maybe because I thought we were...different. That we were actually friends, or at least something like it. But her words have brought me back to reality. Because we weren't, were we? Talking to me, getting me to trust him; as Rhona has just said, it was his job. It was nothing more than a ploy to persuade me to join them. And I nearly fell for it. However strong my will to survive was a moment ago, my pride, stubbornness and anger are ten times stronger, and they are all directed towards Caleb. Caleb, the friendly, charming, beautiful boy from District 10 who was so easily able to slip under my defences and disarm me, the boy I was so foolishly willing to trust even though he will be fighting to kill me in a couple of days. I glare at him, my fury at him and myself mounting as he lifts his eyes to mine. There's an expression on his face I can't read but I'm sure he can feel the anger radiating off me as he winces slightly as we hold each other's gaze. At that moment I hear the door open and somewhere in my brain I am able to process they are coming for me. I push everything aside as I stand up, casting my eyes around the group.

"No" I say. "My answer is no. I fight for myself and that's final. I trust myself, nobody else. And I definitely don't trust you."

I am still talking to the group but my gaze is fixed on Caleb when I say this last part, and I can tell that he knows it's directed at him. Hurt flashes across his face and I push it aside, push aside everything but the knowledge that he was using me, that he doesn't deserve my trust. I see the Gamemaker gesturing towards me and I turn without a backwards glance and walk towards the door. My heart is pounding as images flash through my mind; Caleb's wounded eyes, the group of tributes surrounding me, the knowledge that next time we are that close it will not be as allies. But I don't have time to think about that now. Now I can think only of myself, my performance. After days of holding back, years of preparation, it's time to finally show them what I can do.

The door closes heavily behind me, and as I walk across the gym towards the Gamemakers platform it's suddenly easy to disregard all that just happened. My brain is too nervous to multitask- all I can do is focus on this room, on what I have to do. I finally reach the platform and stand in front of it, clearing my throat as I put Caleb's face out of my mind and instead focus all my attention on the faces in front of me.

"Tyla Ravenscroft, District 7." I say clearly, and then after a few nods of acquiescence from the assembled faces I finally allow myself to look around the room. Now is my chance to play with these toys I know I can wield but have been denied me, and I find I'm itching with anticipation as I slowly approach the weapons stand and run my fingers over the cool metal, trying to contemplate what to do first. The reminder that I'm only one in a line they are eager to move through speeds up my decision. Of all the places to be, I can't imagine anything worse than the middle- I wish I was first, or last, and therefore more memorable than I am. But I won't be forgotten. I refuse to be just anybody.

My resolve stiffens and I quickly reach for the closest weapon. It's a spear, and my hands close around it, the muscles in my arm tightening at the familiar feel of the weapon, my pulse quickening just as it did at the fishing pond. Only this time, it's not a charade. This time I get to play. I turn to survey the room and as usual my body takes over from my mind. My arm tosses the spear slightly and catches it higher up the stem, then with a quick lunge I launch it at a dummy. It meets its target dead on, right in the centre of the chest, and I don't stop to think as I reach for another, and anther, flinging them again and again into the line of dummies, each one hitting with the same deadly accuracy as the one before. I turn as my hands clasp empty air instead of the next spear, and seeing I have gone through them all I reach for a string of knives. I turn for my next target, and since there are no dummies that I have not skewered I instead focus my attention on a beam in the centre of the room. It's a good 100 yards away but I know I can make it, and in quick succession I draw each knife, my brain barely engaged as my wrist flicks and each one flies forward, lodging itself under the one before until I am left with no knives in my hand but a neat line of them graduating down the centre of the beam. I turn again and select another handful, slinging the pack into my belt, then setting my sights on the climbing wall across the room I begin to run.

My feet pound the ground as I approach, and I feel almost as if I could be back in my clearing. The thought lifts me and as I approach this wall, so minuscule when compared to my own, I fling myself upwards the last 10 yards and land on it. I don't slip, don't even hesitate as I find a nook immediately and begin to climb, my fingers seeking out the familiar activity eagerly as I scale the wall in seconds. I reach the top and turn, immediately dislodging my blades and tossing each on turn into the face of the archery target. Each one lands perfectly; I don't stop to congratulate myself as I leap, my thoughts a blur as catch myself on the base of base of one of the spectator booths. It's not as easy to grasp as my familiar trees, and for a second panic darts my chest as my hands fail to secure themselves, but I get a grip on both the brain and my mind and haul myself across, leaping from one to the next until I reach the climbing net. I throw myself at it- catching this is child's play- and am on the ground in a second. My eyes lock onto the weapons stand and train in on the axes. My grand finale. Heart pounding but head clear, I grasp them and throw in quick succession in the direction of the already incapacitated dummies. The first four bury themselves in the face of their target with a strangely realistic thud. The next two spin faster as my shoulders adjust to the memory of this motion and I manage to dislodge the heads clean from their shoulders. I freeze, my final axe pulled back and ready to fly at a non-existent target as the sound of the final head clumps to the ground, echoing around the silent room.

I realise I am breathing deeply as my brain catches up with my body and I focus into the present, lowering my axe as I turn to look at the Gamemakers. They are nodding, talking amongst themselves and taking notes. I don't know what I was expecting- applause perhaps? - but I can't help but feel slighted. I guess I wanted more than vague appreciation- if I'm honest, I wanted amazement. Their approving glances say they are impressed, but something tells me that they've seen it before; that I am good, but only as good as others have been. I can't bear the thought that Angel, Vita, Orla or the others may have beaten me, been better than me, and I feel a cold chill as the possibility of not being outstanding washes over me.

_Are you not impressed?_ I want to scream at them. _Do you not see how hard I worked, what I can do? Can any of you do that? _My breathing, which had been slowing in the aftermath of my exertion, is quickening again, and I can feel anger rushing to the surface. _Stop it_, my conscience wills me. _This isn't Onyx, not another tribute you can talk back to. This is the Capitol_. One false word, the tiniest thing they disapprove of and I'm dead. I know this, and yet I can't help anger rising inside me until my mouth opens, ready to pour my foolish thoughts out. It is then that I spot the head Gamemaker. Thornton, his name is. Thornton Wilde. I recognise him from interviews as a cold, impassive man with a perpetual look of annoyance, thin lips, a pinched face and calculating eyes. But this is not what I see now- right now, those eyes that are locked on me contain a spark of pleasure, and he's actually smiling. Not just smiling- beaming, in fact. He could almost hold a candle to Xavier. My rage quickly simmers as I stare at him in surprise, and then he rises to his feet.

"Tyla Ravenscroft. You are a Community child, are you not?"

For a moment I don't know what to say. I wasn't warned they would ask me questions, and I'm not sure how to respond. "I am" I say eventually, since it's the only answer I can give, and then immediately feel like my response was inadequate. I've not been told how to speak to the Gamemakers, that I would even need to, and I wonder if I've addressed them properly. Thornton nods and tilts his head to the side.

"And your parents? What do you know of them?"

"Nothing sir. They were killed in an accident when I was young."

I feel slightly better now that I have managed to sound more respectful, and yet I am still struggling to comprehend the reason for his questions. He nods again.

"And your skills, did they teach you? Or did you teach yourself?"

"I was very young when they died, so if they did teach me anything I don't remember it. I taught myself. Sir."

I add this as an afterthought, scanning his face for any sign I have misspoken as he nods his head thoughtfully.

"So you recall nothing of your parents?"

I shake my head, still confused. This line of questioning, his queries as to my skills, unnerves me, and I suddenly think I may have underperformed myself. Perhaps they expected more, but I've done as I was told to. Angry with Peyton for not preparing me better, I clear my throat and attempt to salvage the situation.

"Was my performance unsatisfactory? Do you wish me to go again?"

A private smile snakes across his face, and it unnerves me that I am not in on the joke. He shakes his head.

"Not at all, you were quite good. You are dismissed, Tyla."

For a brief moment I dither, wanting to stay, convince them to give me another chance. I want to explain to them all the work I put in, that I deserve a good score, that I am more than I appear, but common sense wins over- I have been dismissed, by the Head Gamemaker no less, and I have no choice but to leave.

Still unsure of my conduct, I drop my head slightly in a stiff bow and turn and walk towards the elevator. I punch the 7 and wait for the doors to close, letting out a deep sigh as soon as they do and slumping against the wall. I performed my best, I'm sure of it, but I can't escape the feeling that something went wrong, somehow. The careers must be more impressive even than I thought. I run over my performance in my head and as I recall the feats I performed, the direct hits and climbs, my mood is lifted. I think of my leaps across the ceiling and by the time I have considered my flawless decapitation with the axe I'm feeling positively hopeful. Maybe it won't be so bad. I think I did well, really, and he did say I was good, however dismissive it sounded. I should be able to score at least a 6, maybe a 7. Dex scored 9, and if I'm honest I was hoping to equal him, posthumous proof I was good enough to train with him, but even if I don't manage that I still think I was good enough to score well. In fact, I was sure of it, until Thornton started asking questions. My stomach clenches at the memory, and by the time the elevator doors open on my floor the momentary hopefulness has been overshadowed by the feeling something wasn't right and I'm once again miserable.

I walk the corridor half-heartedly until I find an occupied room, in which my mentors and Xavier are gathered together in a circle, talking in tight, hushed voices. I frown, slowing to a stop in the doorway as I lean against the frame, watching them. I can't make what they are saying, and their faces are giving away nothing- as usual, Xavier looks excitable, Peyton impassive. I can't see Benton's face as he has his back to me, but his shoulders are tense. This, combined with the lack of anyone else in the room, leads me to assume they are talking about Nico, and I'm immediately curious as to what happened to him in the gym.

"It's ridiculous. The whole thing." Benton snaps suddenly, his voice rising, and as he speaks he turns away, freezing when he sees me. The three of them pause comically, staring at me, and I just raise my eyebrows. I don't care what Nico's done, or not done; I'm far more worried about myself. The first to recover, Xavier sweeps around the others, his blue sequinned coat shimmering like a wave as he cradles my shoulders in his arm and ushers me to a sofa.

"My dear girl, you're back! Tell us, tell us everything, we're all ears!"

He beams at me as he flings himself into his seat and I sigh. Xavier, so desperate to be shining example of how to run a District, about to be so disappointed. Benton lowers himself onto the sofa beside me and leans forward.

"How did it go?"

He must have noted my sigh as his voice is subdued, and I turn to him, grateful not to be exalted. "Not great." I admit in a low voice, and Peyton immediately snaps to attention, standing in front of me, arms folded.

"Why's that? You didn't manage to show them what you can do? You seemed like you had enough time, Nico had been back a while before you returned."

I internally roll my eyes. He must have barely done a thing. No wonder Benton is wound up, and I'm about to make it worse. I shake my head slowly, looking up at Peyton.

"No, that was all fine; at least I thought it was, it was hard to tell. I just wish you had told me they were going to ask questions. I didn't know what to say."

There's silence, and as I glance around at their astonished faces the same peculiar feeling I felt in the lift creeps over me again. Even the normally emotionless Peyton looks dumbstruck, and I'm suddenly worried with no idea why. I turn my head between them, waiting for someone to explain the silence, my curious notion that something is wrong, anything, but all I'm met with is blank stares and despite my anxiousness, it's starting to irritate me.

"They spoke to you? Benton asks eventually, and I nod, waiting for him to continue. Instead he blinks at me, the smooth-talking Benton stunned into silence. But by what?

"Actually spoke?" Peyton asks, and I turn my head towards her gratefully. "Not just to dismiss you, they asked you questions?" I nod again and she falls silent as they all exchange glances. I'm still reluctant to speak, not wanting to hear what has caused their reaction, but curiosity wins over.

"Did they not speak to you?" I ask eventually, and Benton immediately shakes his head.

"No." Peyton agrees finally, and as she looks me in the eye I'm startled by a distinct spark of anxiety in hers. "In fact, to the best of my knowledge, they've never spoken to anyone."


	17. Chapter 17

I stare back at Peyton, attempting to comprehend her words. I turn to Benton, then Xavier, hoping for some contradiction, but their faces tell me that Peyton is correct, and I turn back to look at her. If they never speak to anyone, why would they choose to break that rule for me? Especially since nothing that was said was of any consequence? It makes no sense. But then, so little of what has happened to me in the past few days has made sense that I don't know why I'm still surprised.

"Never?" I say eventually, and she nods.

"As far as I'm aware. Xavier?"

Xavier uncrosses his legs, sending out a shower of blue sparkles, and nods as he leans forward. "Never in my time. The protocol is to observe and mark, never interact. It could lead to accusations of the Gamemakers giving tributes an unfair advantage, knowledge of the arena. Accusations of favouring tributes, of cheating."

I feel a surge of outrage and immediately leap to my feet. "But it wasn't my fault! They spoke to me, what was I supposed to do? I had to reply! Does that mean I'll be punished now? They definitely weren't favouring me, if anything they were disappointed! And it wasn't cheating! And they said nothing about the arena, nothing of any importance to the games at all!"

Benton stands up, holding my arms and looking me in the eye as he placates me gently. "Tyla, calm down, nobody thinks you were cheating. Nobody. But you should tell us exactly what they did say to you."

I nod slowly, my heart slowing from its sudden peak, and allow myself to believe Benton's reassurance that everything is OK as I sink back onto the sofa. I lean forward, running my hands over my face. The fact that the weird feeling I had has been proved right has put me on edge, and it takes me a moment to compose myself before I am able to speak. I relate the entirety of the brief conversation between myself and Thornton to my mentors, each question, each response, the way he said, it, the way I replied, every little insignificant detail from every possible angle over and over again until my throat is actually dry from speaking. Still I'm forced to answer question after question as my mentors pick apart the entire scenario, analyse every detail, try and ascertain some sort of meaning from the conversation; a meaning that I've come to believe doesn't exist.

"I think he was probably just surprised" I say tiredly after what seems like the 50th reconstruction. "That I'm a Community kid who doesn't look like she's about to keel over and die from starvation."

They all exchange a glance and I can tell they're not sure, but Benton eventually nods his agreement.

"Perhaps. They must have at least figured out you can't have got that good without crossing the wall."

I had considered this- it's certainly apparent that my mentors have managed to figure it out- but somehow it doesn't seem to matter now, and I sigh, slumping back in my chair.

"Even if that's true, it's too late. I'm here, and they need a District 7 tribute. What's the worst they can do to me now?"

As if on cue, Renic bursts through the door and sweeps towards me, followed closely by Adeline. He's beaming, his squat little head tilted up at me as he pulls me to my feet, grasps me in his hands and turns me back and forth in front of him.

"Tyla! I almost forgot what potential you had! And soon we shall have your score, and then we will know exactly how to help you achieve your potential! You and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other!"

I stare at him in distaste as Benton sniggers loudly. "I guess that's the worst they can do to you," he says, and I can't help but smile as Renic frowns in confusion, his tiny eyes almost sinking into his head under the weight of his brow. He tuts and swings towards Benton, shaking his head.

"Benton Coskley, always with the smart remarks. Anyone would think you were jealous, not to be the centre of my world anymore."

Benton looks so aghast that I can't help but laugh, and to my surprise Peyton laughs too. I glance at her, glad to have the heavy atmosphere in the room lifted, and suddenly realise I'm absolutely starving. I didn't eat well at lunch, and it's been a while since I got back from the gym so my stomach is expecting its customary feast. I consider briefly that getting my body used to eating so well may have only made things more difficult for me in the arena, where food will be so scarce, but I quickly brush this thought aside. Even if this is the case I know I would not have refused this food, and a few days of gluttony can't remove the years of starvation training my body has received. Thoughts of gluttony turn my eyes back to Renic, and it's almost like he's read my mind as he immediately rubs his stomach, turning imploringly to Xavier.

"My goodness, has dinner not been served yet? It seems an absolute age since I've eaten, I'm practically starving to death!"

I think of the people in the District who are literally starving to death and feel a sudden urge to slap him. Maybe Benton sees it in my face as he rises to his feet suddenly, steering me towards the dining room.

"Should be ready now. Let's get in there and eat before the scores are announced."

After all the discussion and worry about Thornton Wilde I had almost forgotten the very reason I was there to begin with; my score. I immediately begin chewing my lip as I slide into my usual seat, thoughts of my performance flashing back through my mind.

"You want to fill me in on exactly what you did _before_ you and Thornton became best friends?" Benton asks, leaning towards me as he butters a roll, and I am glad that once again he is able to read my mind, or at least my face. I quickly lay out my performance in the gym and he raises his eyebrows.

"Impressive. Seriously, seriously impressive. You're sure to score highly for that."

I feel a surge of relief in my stomach, followed by a stab of pride as I take in Benton's approving expression.

"Really? You think so?" I can't keep the note of hopefulness from my voice as my relief at confirmation my performance was adequate is combined with my eagerness to win Benton's approval, and he nods, that famous smile stretching across his face.

"Definitely. Doing all that in that time, that's really something. You did better than me. Maybe even better than Peyton."

He nods his head across the room, and I glance in the direction he's gesturing as Peyton enters, followed by Nico, who slides silently into his chair. His face is as sulky and impassive as always, and now that my own worries have been abated I recall the hushed consultation I witnessed when I first came back from the gym and feel a spark of curiosity ignite.

"Did Nico say what happened during his?" I ask Benton in a hushed tone, leaning in towards him, and he raises an eyebrow at me.

"Tyla Ravenscroft, you wouldn't be asking me to give away the secrets of a fellow tribute would you?"

He's teasing me and I know it, but that doesn't stop the flush that creeps across my cheeks and the inexplicable need to explain myself. "No, I just saw you guys talking when I came back. I assumed he hadn't...done well."

A strange look passes over Benton's face and he sits back, all trace of his light hearted teasing gone as his eyes become curiously dark. "Oh yea. Right." I watch him expectantly, and when he notices me waiting he sighs heavily.

"I just wish people would realise the games aren't just games. This is real life, real people. It's not to be taken lightly." He looks up at me, his face serious. "People will get hurt."

It's uncomfortable to hear Benton talking so seriously, and I don't know how to respond, so instead I just nod, turning back to my plate. We spend the rest of the meal in silence, leaving the air to be filled with the self-congratulatory back and forth between Xavier and Renic. Normally I would find their ridiculous banter amusing, but today I can't even hear it; all I can think about is how in a few minutes my score will be read out. Even with Benton's assurances I have done enough to score highly, my own assurances that it doesn't even matter, I still can't stop nerves from fluttering in my stomach as the time to hear the scores ticks closer. Despite everything, I want to have impressed them, to have proved myself, and of course there's the sponsors to think about. If I don't score well I won't get any, and if that happens my chances of staying alive decrease dramatically.

All this rolls around in my head, and by the time we move through to the screening room as the opening anthem rings out my palms are actually sweating. I clench them tightly as I sit on the edge of the sofa, watching Caesar Flickerman delightedly introduce "the moment we've all been waiting for", watching the faces of the tributes pop up accompanied by a number, knowing I won't be able to relax until mine flashes past.

Onyx is up first, and he's scored an 11. I shake my head in disbelief. That's unrealistically high- I haven't seen an 11 in the past couple of years, and unluckily for me it proves that the boy who's sworn to break my neck with his bare hands is entirely capable of carrying out his threat. Angel scores a 10, also unattainably high, and I watch the next few scores sail by, feeling nothing but numb desperation, hope that I've achieved at least something. 8 would be amazing, and I'm sure I earned that, but by the time District 7 rolls around I've lowered my expectations further still and am praying for a 5. I can't focus on Caesar's voice, anything at all- my vision is almost blurred by the time my faces flashes up on the screen, and it takes me a second to see the number through my unreliable eyes. 10.

I blink with disbelief and amazement as Benton whoops beside me and punches me on the arm. "10! Damn right! That's my girl!" He grabs me in a headlock and kisses me on the top of the head as Xavier and Renic leap to their feet, clamouring around me. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and I let out a deep breath as I feel relief wash over me, laughing as Benton releases me and beams at me, clapping me on the back.

"Didn't I say? No way they wouldn't see you were amazing."

I bite my lip with pleasure, delighted in spite of myself as I turn to look at Peyton. She's only smiling slightly, but her eyes are sparkling, and as I catch her eye she gives a small nod of approval that tells me she's as delighted as everyone else. 10. I can't believe it. It's a great score, an excellent score, and I sit back, willing myself to focus on the rest of the scores even though I'm so relieved it's hard to care anymore.

They flash by in a blaze and before I know it the anthem is playing the close. Only Onyx beat my 10, which has tied me with Angel, Vita, Leon and Kirin. The remainder of the Careers and Jasper from 5 score a 9, and everyone else scores below Caleb, who manages an 8. Nico, meanwhile, has scored a 2, and despite his insistence that he doesn't care he's gone pale. _What did you expect_, I want to ask, _when you've done nothing but sulk and hide for three days?_ I still don't know what happened in the judges' room; I had imagined he would sit and do nothing, but the fact that he scored above a zero shows that he did try something, and was simply as unremarkable as he intended to be.

I watch him quietly rise and vanish from the room, unnoticed in my haze of congratulations and exaltations, and feel an unwanted tug of sympathy. He's brought it on himself, I know this, but the thought of the meagre performance he must have put in to score at all, the thought of him trying and failing, the thought of his pale face is all enough to make me excuse myself from the others as tired and follow him. At the last minute I duck into my room and grab my notebook, tucking it under my arm as I carry on. I don't bother knocking as I know he wouldn't answer, simply walking in and closing the door behind me.

I'm expecting him to be crying, but to his credit he's simply standing by his own screen, which he has set to a blue, cloudless sky, staring blankly. He turns, eyes blazing with anger, when he hears the door close, and advances on me furiously.

"What the hell do you want golden girl? Don't you have a victory party to go to?"

I stare him down calmly and wait until he's done to reply. "I just wanted to remind you of the 61st games. The winner scored 3."

"So? What do you care?" he snarls after a pause, and I shrug.

"I wanted to remind you that the scores don't mean a thing. They're only there to give the Capitol something to bet on, they mean nothing to us."

It's not completely true, and only comforting to a low scorer, but it seems to do the trick as he blinks, his breathing slowing. "Easy for you to say," he says eventually, but his anger has abated, and despite his tone I can tell he's desperate for me to persuade him.

"Sure it is, doesn't make it less true though. The scores only matter to the audience; all that matters to us it what happens when we are in there, and there's no way of knowing what that will entail. Remember Dex, from the 64th games? He could do loads, he said so. He scored well, but it didn't matter; he was dead in seconds."

Nico nods slowly, and I push my feeling of disloyalty to Dex aside as I continue. "So there you are then. The score is nothing. All that matters is what you can do."

He jerks his head up sullenly at this. "Which is nothing. I can't do anything," he mutters, and I narrow my eyes at him.

"You can think, can't you? I've seen you; you're all in your head. Gotta be something going on up there. As long as you're smart, and you keep yourself alive, who says you can't outlast anyone?"

He chews his lip thoughtfully and I step towards him, handing him my book.

"I don't know what you did in the gym, but I wrote down all the edible plants and insects; learn them. If you can feed yourself, stay out of sight, you have a good a chance as anyone."

I don't know where this need to make him feel better has come from; I guess scoring high has made me charitable, but he seems appreciative as his hands clasp around the notebook. "Thanks." he says slowly, and I nod as I turn to leave.

"Tyla."

He calls out after me just I am reaching for the door handle, and I turn back to him as he hesitates, stepping towards me. "Thank you. But...I don't need it. I told you, I have a plan, and the stupid score can't change that."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I'd forgotten his plan. Surely he can't still be carrying that as an option? But the resolution in his eyes says otherwise, and curious despite myself I drop my hand from the door and walk toward him.

"What plan? Because it better be really bloody good."

His eyes narrow suspiciously and this time I do roll my eyes. "Come on Nico, I'm not going to tell anyone."

He scans me up and down slowly. "You'll tell your teammates," he says, an edge of malice to his voice, and it takes me a second to figure out what he means.

"You mean from downstairs? I didn't join them." I scoff, and his shoulders sag slightly as his defensiveness fades a little.

"Good. I don't trust them."

I frown, folding my arms. "Why not?" I ask, and he shrugs. "I just don't. You don't want to join them."

"No I don't. I don't need anyone backing me up." I say this slightly more aggressively than I intend to, but he nods eagerly.

"Right. Me neither. Because…" He trails off and I look at him expectantly as he bites his lip and then leans in closer, dropping his voice.

"Because I'm not staying in the arena long. I'm getting out of there as soon as possible. I'm going to escape."

It takes me a second to figure out if he's joking, but the proud glint in his eyes tells me he isn't. That's his plan? Escape? I stare at him. He's so stupid I want to reach out and shake him by the shoulders.

"Nobody's ever thought of it" he smirks, and it takes all my energy not to slap him in the face, knock some sense into him.

"Of course they've thought of it. You really think in 67 years nobody has thought of escaping? They just haven't managed it because it isn't possible" I snap, irritated by his naivety and wilful ignorance. Does he really believe he can escape? Or does he know he can't win and this is just his attempt to give himself some hope, some belief in a way out? He looks taken aback by my sudden change in tone and folds his arms across his chest defensively.

"Of course it's possible. We get put in there, so we can get out."

"Right. On camera, with every resident of the Capitol watching. No chance they'll try and stop you."

My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and he glares at me. "They won't. They won't see it coming. I can hide, really well. Nobody will see me until I've gone." He's so insistent that I can see he's past arguing, so I just roll my eyes.

"It's not a plan Nico. It's the dreams of a fool who's going to die if he thinks that's his way out. Trust me; forget this stupid idea and just try and stay alive."

With that, I turn and march from the room before I get any angrier. As soon as I arrive in my room I throw myself onto my bed, staring at the ceiling in frustration. He's so stupid, so arrogant and foolish and ridiculously naïve that I want to go back in there and talk some sense into him, but I know he's beyond listening. _I should be glad_, I tell myself, _one more quick death, one less competitor_, but I don't believe it. He's so immature and clueless that it's hard to be glad that he will die; he's barely a threat at all, and my angry thoughts melt into a resigned pity.

Nico soon drifts from my mind, and now that the worries of my score and the Gamemakers are gone from my head I am able to finally recall the events of this morning; my interaction with the other tributes, with Caleb. Perhaps I should have told Peyton or Benton, but I had completely forgotten it- even now it seems like it happened days ago. I picture the hurt look on his face when I declared him untrustworthy and feel a slight stab of guilt, but more overwhelming than this is the hurt that I feel at his own actions. If it was any other tribute I wouldn't care about being double crossed- in fact, I would expect it- but for some reason, this boy I've known only days has already wormed his way under my skin, established himself as a person of importance. I'm sure I made the right decision in turning down the alliance, but I can't help thinking that if Caleb had been the one making the offer, the only one, my answer may have been different. Maybe this is why I'm so hurt- despite logic telling me not to, I really did trust Caleb. Considering his intentions were only to trick me, to charm me into joining his alliance, I am angry that this is the case, but it is true nonetheless. I try and figure out why it matters, why he was different, why I was so willing to believe him and so hurt when it turned out I shouldn't have, but I don't have long to consider it. Lying down has caused me to realise how tired I am; the day's events have worn me down, and before I know it my eyelids are forcing themselves shut and my brain sinks into sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Sunday is my favourite day of the week. In the District, I wake early and head straight to the woods, spend the entire day training and hunting- I always eat well on a Sunday. It's the day I feel like I achieve most, the only day that truly belongs to me, and I always look forward to it. But this is not a normal Sunday. This is a Capitol Sunday, and I'm woken by the cheerful voice of Xavier sing-songing through the door.

"Wake up, wake up, time for the biggest day yet!"

In Xavier's world, _every_ day seems to be a big day, so it's hard to take it seriously, but the realisation that I've fallen asleep in my clothes is enough to drag me out of my slumber. One quick shower and a fresh outfit later and I'm sitting expectantly at the empty dining table eating my breakfast. For the 'biggest day yet' it seems an awful lot like the rest of them- once again I am first to the table, and once again Benton is next in line. He flings himself into his customary seat beside me and reaches across me for the rolls, tossing me a wink as he does.

"Morning, 10. Has your high score gone to your head yet?"

He grins at me as he tears a chunk out of his roll, and I can't help but smile back as he nods his head at my towering plate of food.

"Breakfast of champions I see. You're gonna need it, today is a right kick in the teeth." The smile disappears as my face falls and Benton laughs at my expression.

"Knocked the wind out of your sails there huh. Don't worry; you won't be subjected to the stylists, that excitement awaits you tomorrow. But you do have to deal with 4 hours of presentation prep with Xavier."

I close my eyes briefly, envisioning the fun time I have ahead of me. "And what exactly does that entail?"

I open my eyes to see Benton watching me in amusement just as Xavier sweeps into the room in a glittering, lemon yellow coat, depositing himself in his customary seat.

"You'll be with Xave over here all morning. He'll talk you through the basics of looking camera ready, being super smiley, walking in a straight line and basically everything you need to do to make the Capitol think you're the bee's knees."

Xavier beams at Benton's description, either ignoring or oblivious to the undercurrent of sarcasm, and then swings his winning smile over to me.

"That's right. There's no escort better than me at camera preparation, trust me. We have a fabulous morning ahead of us."

I flash him a fake smile as I groan internally, shovelling up a huge forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs mixed with tiny chopped greens. "And what happens after that?" I ask, ignoring Xavier's look of disgust as I talk through my breakfast.

"Once Xave has made you as shiny as possible you come to me and Peyton and we discuss your strategy."

I turn towards Benton, alert at the mention of my strategy, and am about to ask him what it is when Nico and Peyton walk in. I lapse into silence, my gaze falling back on my plate, and continue to shovel in my breakfast as they silently join the table. I half listen as Benton and Xavier repeat the morning schedule to Nico, and I can't help wondering exactly what strategy they could possibly have planned for him. As difficult as it will be to sell me as likeable to the audience, Nico is another thing all together- his obvious contempt for the games and the citizens of the Capitol combined with his low score mean that he is a challenge I am glad I don't have to deal with.

Breakfast is barely over before Xavier has hustled me back into my bedroom, and the next thing I know I am being directed to walk up and down my room in high heels. It feels unnatural and awkward, and combined with the skin-tight column of fabric I'm assured is a dress the whole thing has swiftly become yet another difficulty I can't master. On top of this Xavier is dancing around me, reminding me continually to smile, prodding at my posture and constantly nudging my chin upwards, telling me to "stand tall, my darling, make your District proud." It's incredibly hard to stand tall when you can't stand at all, and if walking in heels is what it takes to make my District proud I may as well go home now, because it's not happening.

To give him his due, Xavier remains upbeat the entire time, and after what feels like hours I'm finally allowed to sit down as he talks me through what he calls "sitting right." I had never realised I was sitting wrong, that it was even possible to do so, but evidently slouching, leaning and crossing your arms are all cardinal body language sins that I am constantly committing. "You look hostile, my darling, like you don't want to be here," Xavier tells me over and over, proving an uncanny brilliance for reading body language.

I'm talked though everything; smiling whilst I talk, dignified pauses, where to put my hands- the list is endless, and by the time he has me back in yet another airtight dress doing my 'exit walk' I'm amazed to realise I've never been so exhausted in my life. I'm relieved when there's a knock, and Benton sticks his head around the door.

"Xave, we're done here when you're ready." He flashes his eyes over me and his face breaks into a wide grin.

"Looking hot Tyla. Who knew you had it in you."

I feel blood rush into my face and immediately stumble from my heels, causing Xavier to begin squawking and shooing Benton from the room as I try to regain my balance. This is the magic of Benton- Renic can compliment me until he's blue in the face and all I feel is irritation, whereas one line from Benton and I'm knocked off my feet, quite literally. It's easy to forget how adored he is when he's just my mentor, but moments like that, where I'm hit with the charm offensive, make it clear why he won the hearts of Panem.

I'm only subjected to a little more before Xavier is satisfied I can carry myself with something approaching dignity, and then I'm released for lunch. There's no sign of Nico, no sign of anyone, and so I eat alone, rewarding myself for my morning with Xavier with an excessive lunch as I consider what the afternoon will entail. All I know is it will involve my strategy, and since I'm yet to know what that is I'm not sure what we'll be doing. Either way, it can't fail to be better than a morning waltzing around in heels.

I've barely finished eating when Benton arrives and directs me through to the living room where Peyton is already waiting. Benton throws himself onto the sofa beside her and I perch on a chair, looking at them both expectantly.

"So? What's the strategy? What are you going to do with me?"

They exchange glances and then Peyton clears her throat. "Well first we wanted to ask if you had any ideas for a strategy you wanted to take."

I raise my eyebrows. "Me? I have no idea! I'm struggling with the idea of even getting on the stage, let alone appearing likeable when I do it!"

Benton laughs but I don't, looking from one to the other in a slight panic. "Why? Do you not have any ideas? Can't you think of anything to do with me?"

Benton sits up slightly in surprise as he realises I'm genuinely distressed. "No, of course we do! We just wanted to see what you thought! You have good instincts, you know what you're capable of, and we wanted to see if our ideas paralleled."

I relax slightly but shrug, still clueless. "I know what I'm capable of doing, sure, but I have no idea how to make myself likeable. I can never get anyone to like me."

My mentors exchange a glance I can't read and then Benton smiles at me. "Well I guess the one area you don't know yourself is how you come across."

I frown slightly as Peyton chips in. "Don't worry, nor did I. Public presentation was never my strong point, Benton's the real star at that."

I nod, turning my focus to him. Whilst it's comforting to know that Peyton was just as clueless as I am, what I really want to know is what strategy they've come up with, and Benton once again reads this on me as he clears his throat.

"You've got a great score, and anyone with eyes can see you're strong enough to be a threat. But you're also a Community child, not a career. You've not been raised to be a winner, you've made yourself one, and we've got to play up to that."

I nod slowly as he leans forward. "You're a fighter, Tyla, and we've got to make that clear, but you're also humble, and _that_ is your most important selling point."

Humble? I'm not sure what to say to that. In all my years of self-belief, self-preservation, I have never considered myself humble, and I narrow my eyes at Benton in confusion. "Really?" I ask, and he nods.

"Oh yea. That's the angle to take, for sure. The Capitol love modesty."

Now I'm really surprised. From what I've seen, the residents of the Capitol are all about self-promotion and large egos- Renic for example seems to be the shining star of the stylist circuit, and he never stops talking himself up. It seems the way to get the Capitol to truly adore you is to adore yourself, and Benton grins when I say as much to him.

"Oh yea, if you're raised in the Capitol, or as a career, it's seen as foolishness to deny the greatness you were so _obviously_ born into. But you're an outsider who matched the score of the careers, an unlikely hero from the outer Districts who fought against her upbringing to make herself great. If you play that up, go with modesty, that you're just doing your best and hoping it's enough, people will just adore you."

I nod slowly. It may be a fabrication but it makes sense, and it may just work. "Ok, so how do I act modest then?" I ask, and Benton grins.

"That's the brilliance of it. You can just be yourself."

This startles me, and I widen my eyes. "No way. You can't send me out on that stage and make me be myself. I'll crash and burn." Benton laughs, leaning over and slapping me on the knee.

"Tyla, you're a natural! Can't you hear it? You already have the answers in your head! For example, if I said…."

He straightens up, posing as he slips into a strangely uncanny fake Capitol voice, a clearly practiced impression of Caesar Flickerman. "Tyla, how did you manage to win yourself such an impressive score?"

He flashes me a Capitol beam and I freeze for a moment, considering before I answer the only way I can- truthfully. "I just did the best I could. I guess it was good enough."

Benton claps his hands, beaming, and grins at Peyton. "Didn't I say? Perfect! You can't fail."

I'm struggling to summon up his level of enthusiasm, but I can't deny it's encouraging that he at least has faith in me, and I let out a breath as I try and calibrate my head to my new persona. "Ok. Humble. What else?"

A lot, it turns out. I'm talked through every interview skill they can think of; how to appear charming yet shy, humble yet impressive, confident yet hopeful. I'm run through every possible scenario, every likely request, told how to respond in every possible situation as question after question is fired at me. Benton clearly knows exactly how to handle the public and is in his element, pacing the room, his eyes sparkling, but Peyton is relatively silent, chipping in only now and again when asked. The rest of the time she just watches us, a curious expression on her face, and I try not to analyse what she could be thinking.

Benton beams at me as I respond to what must be the millionth question, nodding his approval. "Not a bad answer yet. You're gonna shine, kiddo, I just know it. No matter what happens."

Peyton snaps to attention suddenly, and her eyes focus on mine.

"Tyla, just make sure you remember that you are here for entertainment, and Caesar likes to put on a good show. If he says anything that...surprises you, just make sure you remember you are on camera, you are being watched."

I raise my eyebrows as I nod slowly, taking in this sudden and unexpected piece of advice, and Benton agrees emphatically.

"Exactly. Roll with the punches. And whatever Caesar says, remember, he's good. Really good. He knows what makes people tick, and he knows how to make you look your best. So whatever he asks you, know it's for a reason and answer completely honestly. It's not just him your talking to, it's the whole of the Capitol, more importantly the sponsors, and they are the only thing that really matter."

Sponsors. The audience. Sitting here with my mentors, it's so easy to forget that tomorrow I will be broadcast all over Panem, and that the people watching may be my only chance of survival. A few minutes ago I couldn't wait to finish, but this thought has suddenly made me feel totally unprepared, and I'm just about to ask if we can go over my strategy again when I'm interrupted by a voice.

"Peyton my dear, might I bother you for half a moment?"

We all look up as Xavier appears at the door. He's smiling but it's strained, and I imagine Nico is the one to blame. Peyton rises and follows him out, and Benton raises his eyebrows knowingly at me before continuing.

"I think you're ready, Tyla. Luckily for you you've got a winning strategy built in, so you can really just respond however feels natural. But make sure you always remember, no matter what, that the most important thing about the interview is to win over the audience. That's the key to sponsors, and it can mean the difference between life and death if you can get people to like you, love you even."

_Like you did_, I think. "Like Finnick did," I say.

He raises his eyebrows, and I can't tell if he is insulted or amused by me crediting his successor with the technique that won him the games. "Exactly like Finnick" he says dryly, and I feel a sudden urge to ask him the question that was playing on my mind back on the train.

"Are you upset? That you aren't the favourite anymore?"

Benton starts and looks at me uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"Were you upset when people decided they loved Finnick more than you?"

I know it is not likely to be something he wants to talk about, but I'm unable to resist my curiosity nonetheless. Benton looks surprised by the question, and for a moment his carefree, confident, carefully maintained persona slips. He looks at me consideringly for a second and then sighs, shaking his head. "No, Tyla. I wasn't upset."

I frown slightly, not ready to accept his unlikely answer without further explanation. "Why not? I think I would have been," I say, and Benton pulls a slight face, lowering his voice a fraction.

"There are...disadvantages to being loved by the Capitol."

He says it softly, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Surely he can't be serious? What disadvantages can there possibly be to being adored by the most powerful and wealthy people in the whole of Panem? I rack my brains but struggle to even think of one thing that could be considered bad, and shake my head in confusion.

"Disadvantages? Like what?"

Benton is sitting stiffly now; I can tell he is uncomfortable with my questions, but I am determined to know the answer so I hold his gaze. He gives a deep sigh and runs his hands along his arms, thinking for a moment before answering.

"Let's just say winning the games is only half of the battle."

His voice is slow and hesitant, and whilst I can tell this is not a flippant response, it has raised more questions than it answers. I don't have time to ask what he means, however, as we are interrupted by Peyton's return. She is accompanied by Xavier, who looks far more his usual self, and as he walks in he beams at me, holding out his arms.

"Tyla my darling! Peyton has been filling me in, she tells me you're quite the natural."

"I don't know about that" I shrug awkwardly, and Benton laughs, standing up as he claps me on the back.

"There you go, doesn't that just prove it Xave?"

I glance at Xavier as his sunny Capitol smile stretches over his face, and he clasps my hands in his. "Oh yes, it most certainly does. From what I see, we may just have a winner on our hands."

_Maybe,_ I think, my gaze sliding over to Benton as I recall his words. _But winning the games is only half the battle_.


	19. Chapter 19

The first time I was dressed by Renic, I remember being amazed that it could take 3 hours to put on an outfit. I must have adjusted quickly to the madness of the Capitol, then, as I've been being pandered to by the stylists for the last 5 hours and though I'm still not ready, I'm not in the least surprised.

I awoke this morning to the startling sensation of being poked with a thousand tiny needles, which it turned out were my prep team who, clearing seeing waking me up as an unnecessary interference, had descended on my room and began picking at stray body hairs with tweezers.

Since then I've been cleansed, scrubbed, scraped, buffeted, polished, moisturised and rubbed with a strange shimmery powder which has made my skin shine like a diamond. I've been allowed brief breaks for food, but the rest of the time has been dedication to, as Renic puts it, "perfectionising", and I'm currently standing in the middle of my room whilst one stylist fusses with my hair, another paints fine brown and gold patterns on my shoulders and arms and another fits me into my outfit.

At least I'm not wearing only a rope this time. I'm dressed in a silky soft gown of the lightest, softest pearlescent green, which gradually fades into a bright grass colour, down into a warm olive, a deep moss and then into a rich brown. It spirals around me like a column, and I'm suddenly glad of Xavier's insistence that I practice in the tightest dresses known to man as this one is much worse. Renic seems to be running with the theme that the less clothes he gives me the better, as though I'm reasonably well covered the material is so tight, and so sheer, that I feel like I am wearing nothing. As it is, the strapless gown means that only my back and shoulders are bare, and since they are currently being painted in elaborate patterns it seems I will get away with being somewhat clothed.

My face was finalised hours ago, and I've adjusted to the fake lashes that have been painstakingly stuck over mine, blinking slowly as I stand motionless and wait for the finishing touches. All that will remain after that is to head to the stage for the interview. The thought causes my stomach to clench, and I bring my hand back to cover it as the stylist shrieks at me.

"Sorry" I mutter, returning my elaborately painted hand to her. I can't help but admire the faint brown and green spiralling ivy that twists up my arms and across my back, and the shimmer of my skin underneath gives me a soft glow. My fingernails too are beautiful, shimmery green with black trails and sparkles dancing over them. I can't help but wonder if this is all necessary, if it will even be visible to the audience, but I can't deny it does serve to make me feel more spectacular, even if it won't be seen.

Renic, as usual, has been circling me, and he suddenly comes to a halt in front of me, holding both his hands out. "Stop! No more! That's perfect!" The stylists all freeze, then scatter as he bats them away, standing in front of me with his hands clasped.

"Perfect. Utterly perfect. You're spectacular but understated, beautiful but subtle. It fits your persona exactly. I….am amazing."

He lets out a heavy sigh, clearly burdened with his own genius, clutching his chest as he shakes his head, scanning me. He suddenly clicks his fingers and laughs. "But what am I thinking? _You_ haven't seen you yet!" He bustles me across the room to a mirror and flings his arms out. "I give you….my creation."

I blink at the vision in the mirror. As much as I believed myself used to the madness of the Capitol, this is one thing I will never adjust to- their ability to make you look beautiful. Because that is what I am. The dress clings to me, sweeping round as it flows through the rich, earthy shades, and the slightest movement makes it shimmer enticingly, dancing under my gaze. My shimmering skin seems to radiate light, and the patterns that dance up my limbs lead to my hair, which also shimmers, a richer red than I've ever seen it and twisting in curled strands as its swept around over one shoulder, the sparkles catching the light and making it dance as if it is alive. And then my face, painted like a masterpiece, my mossy green and brown eye makeup smoking and smouldering and making my own eyes brighter and more entrancing than they could ever be in real life. I look perfect, beautiful, amazing. I look nothing at all like myself.

As much as I hold him in distain, I have to credit Renic with talent, that he has managed to make me into this, and I turn to him, unable to stop myself beaming. "Thank you." I say, and he smiles warmly, leaning forward to straighten an errant hair. "My dear girl, it's what I do."

I turn back to survey my reflection, and we stand side by side, taking in the sight of me, the creator and his creation. It's so hard to reconcile my reflection with myself that it takes me a while to become embarrassed that I am so entranced with my own image, and when I realise I quickly turn away. "So what's next?" I ask and he smiles in surprise.

"Why, what else? The interview of course!"

I feel my stomach dip and I turn back to my reflection, trying to find courage in it, trying to make myself into the vision in the mirror, the mask, and not the terrified girl behind it. Renic chuckles, taking my reliance on the mirror as vanity, and lightly cradles my back with his podgy arm.

"Come along my dear, the world is waiting to see you."

The thought leaves my guts churning, and even the expression on Benton's face as I am shepherded to the lift is not enough to settle my anxious stomach. His eyes widen as he scans me slowly and he whistles, breaking into a wide grin.

"Tyla, that is not you?! Renic, how come you never made me look that good?"

I allow him a small smile before my face falls again, and I struggle to calm my inner turmoil as Adeline arrives beside me. She beams, taking me in and then turning to Renic. "You are…..a true talent" she breathes, and Renic swells with pride.

I glance at Nico, who is standing beside her, and note that Adeline herself is not without talent. He is dressed relatively simply, in a deep green suit with brown accents, but some subtle 'Capitolising' has brought out the best in his lean features and he looks almost handsome. I tell him this, and he simply nods, his face turning away. Unbelievably he looks more nervous than I am, and I wonder what his strategy can possibly be. There is no way of making himself impressive, surely, and I can't imagine him pulling off anything other than surly contempt.

The lift arrives and we all bundle in, and I take advantage of my close proximity to Benton to lean in to him, dropping my voice, though it seems unnecessary with Renic and Xavier's booming conversation filling the lift. "What's Nico's strategy?" I ask softly, and he glances at the others before leaning in, his mouth millimetres from my ear.

"We landed on secretive, sly, with a trick up his sleeve too good to show even the Gamemakers" he whispers back, his breath tickling my skin and lifting my hair slightly.

"God knows if it will work, it's about all I could come up with, considering."

I shake my head slowly. "It's good." I say. Actually...it's really good. It's even made me look at Nico differently, and I know the trick up his sleeve is nothing but naïve foolishness. Playing the secretive angle might just give him an edge, one he doesn't deserve due to his lack of commitment, and since he's kept his head down in training, stayed out of sight, hearing this strategy might even cause the other tributes to think twice about him. Against the odds, Nico has been given a chance, and I look at Benton with more respect than ever.

He looks down at me, pulling a face. "Let's hope so," he whispers, and I nod. "It is good. I'm impressed." He smiles and I look back at him, only millimetres from the famous green eyes that won the hearts of the Capitol. He deserves to be recognized as more than just a pretty face, an ex-champion, the ex-favourite- he's smart, dedicated, and utterly invaluable, and I'm overwhelmed suddenly with how grateful I am to have him.

"I'm glad you're my mentor" I whisper, the words out of my mouth as soon as I think them, and I'm immediately surprised that I've admitted it. Benton looks equally surprised, and something flashes across his face, pleasure mingled with something I can't read- sadness maybe? Unsurprising, as he knows that however hard he works, odds are he is sending us to our deaths.

His arms move slightly, as if he is going to hug me, but either my body paint or the awkward proximity put him off as he hesitates. Eventually he lifts his hand, catching my hair with his fingers and brushing it from my face.

"I couldn't ask for a better tribute kiddo, believe me."

His voice is gruff and strangely emotional, and I smile quickly, turning my head as I feel tears threatening at my eyes. I'm not sure what compelled me to suddenly declare my appreciation for my mentor, but I couldn't have picked a worse time, right before I'm due to go on stage. Sensing my anxiety, Benton catches my hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly as the lift surges to a stop. I shake myself as we step out, focusing my mind back on my imminent television interview, and then immediately wish I hadn't. That familiar churning in my stomach returns and I jump slightly, on edge, as Xavier cradles his arm around me.

"Come along tributes, this way," he sings, and I turn to take one last glance at my mentors as me and Nico are shepherded away. Benton flashes me a smile and Peyton just nods, but they both have the same nervous anticipation in their eyes, and I'm struck with a sudden urge to make them proud. I turn away as Xavier bustles Nico and I into our place in the tribute line; I'm stood behind the boy from District 6, and Nico is behind me. We are all silent, not looking at each other as we wait in line behind the doors of the training centre that will open any moment. At the front a Gamemaker is explaining that once the doors open we are to walk to our seats along the wall and sit in our current order, but I'm hardly listening, as behind her through the doors I can hear the noise of the audience, and the little food I've had that day is threatening to make a reappearance.

I swallow as she turns to open the doors, and all of a sudden I am struck with a strange urge to see Caleb. My head turns slightly, but I brush this feeling aside angrily, telling myself that he is a liar and a fake, furious that my instinct is still to seek him out. I cling to this rage, pleased to have a distraction as the doors finally open and we are hit by the deafening roar of the crowd. I feel Nico's hand leap to touch mine and I don't brush him away, squeezing his hand briefly just as Benton did just moments ago. I understand his fears, as I am feeling them myself.

Through the door we can see the interview room; the audience seems to stretch on for miles, and they are all waiting for us. I swallow, attempting to calm my nerves as the Gamemaker ushers us forward, and soon I can't focus on anything but putting one foot in front of the other as we walk out to our seats. The noise is deafening, erupting around us, and I spot a few of the tributes waving. I don't know how they're doing it; it's all I can do not to fall over, and I'm beside myself with relief as we finally reach our seats and I can sink down into mine. We are seated in an arch that curves round to the right of the stage, the stylists and mentors seated on an arch opposite, and in the centre is the stage, black and shining and glistening with sparkling stones with two plush red chairs in the centre. My heart nearly stops at the realisation that I'll soon be sat there, and I turn away from the stage to distract myself, scanning the row of mentors and searching for mine.

I soon spot Benton, and to my surprise he is standing with Finnick. He has his hand on his shoulder and is saying something in his ear, and Finnick is laughing. I tilt my head, astonished at this display of solidarity towards someone who should surely be his rival, and watch as Finnick leans to reply to him and Benton grins, clapping him on the back. I notice that the audience nearby are beside themselves at this vision of their two favourites together, and some of the women are actually being carried off, having fainted or weeping uncontrollably. I shake my head in amazement at their ridiculousness and glance back up as Benton moves along the row and takes his place beside Peyton. Having seen him in close proximity it's easy to forget the impact he can have, the stars he and Finnick truly are, and I'm struck by a sudden vision of Caleb beside them. He would fit in easily, I realise, with his perfect features, warm eyes, floppy dark hair, his wide, genuine smile. He has that same quality Benton has, of making you feel like the sole focus of his attention, and I find myself wondering how the audience will respond to him, if his likability will come across.

I allow myself to glance up the rows towards him, and am surprised to see he is staring at me. His face changes as soon as our eyes lock, recognition that I have seen him, and I turn my head away quickly, angry that I was caught looking for him, that he entered my mind at all, and instead turn my attention back to the stage. I notice a slight hush has fallen over the crowd now that we are all seated, and a ripple of excitement runs though the room as the lights change and Claudius Templesmith's voice suddenly booms out over the crowd, introducing the one, the only, Caesar Flickerman.


	20. Chapter 20

If I thought the reception to us was loud then this is unreal. I'm forced to clench my hands into fists to stop myself covering my ears as the crowd erupts at the sight of him, springing around the stage, basking and waving, the true king of the games. He's a legend, has been doing the interviews every single year for as long as I can remember, and his longevity is reflected in his popularity. Surprisingly he looks no different than ever, and is even wearing the same outfit he always does, a midnight blue suit with embedded sparkling blubs that flicker at random intervals. For the Capitol it's almost understated, and it's also timeless- he's looked like this forever, like a statue, a mascot, the face of the games. _He must have had so much surgery_, I think, and I smile to myself as Caesar begins to speak.

He's coming out with his usual patter, warming up the audience, and they love it, screaming his name and laughing. He's effortlessly charming and humorous, makes being on stage look so easy that it's almost like nobody has told him he should be terrified. But he's not- he's relishing it, basking in the glow of the audience, and by the time he goes to call the first tribute, despite the excitement evident on his face he actually looks a little disappointed not to be the sole focus of attention.

Angel is up first, and befitting her name looks utterly Angelic. She hammers home the message, though- _I'm not as sweet as I look_, and this combined with her beautiful face makes the crowd adore her. Onyx, too, raises huge cheers, and his strategy is all out arrogance- _I've already won, the rest is just paperwork_. The crowd go wild, and he's an instant hit.

The interviews continue, each one running for three minutes until a bell rings and the next one comes on. I see reluctant bravery, isolation, arrogance, inner strength and family honour all toted as strategies, but it's hard to concentrate too hard, as all I can think of is my own looming interview. I tell myself I'll concentrate after I'm done, figure out the rest of the strategies properly, as until I know it's over all I can do is stare blankly in the direction of the stage and focus on the sound of my own heartbeat. The time runs by in what feels like seconds, and before I know it the gong has sounded, Caesar is shaking hands with the boy from 6 and it's suddenly my turn in the spotlight.

I take long, steady breaths, trying to calm myself as I slowly walk up on stage. I ignore the noise of the audience and instead focus on Caesar, who is standing up, clapping and beaming at me as I approach. _He's good_, I remember Benton saying, and I decide to place my entire performance in his hands. _Come on then Caesar_, I think, managing to smile at him as I reach the centre of the stage. _Give me all you've got_.

He grasps my hands warmly, shaking them as he propels me into my seat and leans forward. "Tyla Ravenscroft everyone!" he beams, throwing his arms open, and I smile graciously at the applause, my heart pulsating in my throat. As the clapping subsides, Caesar turns to me and fixes me with a smile that makes Xavier look perpetually grumpy.

"So Tyla. First let me say you look absolutely stunning! An absolute vision! The work of Renic, no doubt!"

There's applause as he turns to gesture to Renic, and I glance up at the screen behind Caesar's head as Renic's face appears on it. He is puce with glee, beaming plummily at the stage, and I find I am pleased to have the attention focused on him; it's calmed me enough that I can dredge an answer from my head.

"Yes, he's really something. A genius."

I add this as an afterthought, figuring that repeating Adeline's words can't hurt, and am greeted by loud applause. Renic is something of a legend, and to compliment him, it seems, is to compliment the Capitol. Caesar beams at me, nodding as he turns back round.

"He is indeed. But nobody could fail to make you impressive now could they! You caused quite a stir when you were selected in the reaping, let me assure you! Walking through the crowd like that, we couldn't fail to spot you!"

He gestures up towards the screen and I start as I see myself, stern faced and cold eyed, the crowds parting for me as I march towards the stage. I stare in wonder at my face, so different from the one I'm wearing now. Was it really only days ago that that person was me? It seems like a lifetime. Caesar leans forward and my eyes flicker back to him.

"You look like a very strong young lady, Tyla. Tell me, does nothing scare you?"

_You do,_ I think. And recalling Benton's advice, I clear my throat. "You do. You and all of this," I say truthfully, fixing my gaze on Caesar. "I was scared to death of coming up here for the interview, in front of you all."

There's a ripple of laughter and Caesar turns to the audience, pulling a fake surprised face. "Scared of us? Really? Surely not!" I nod and he shakes his head, leaning forward conspiratorially, his voice a loud stage whisper.

"I'm not scaring you now, am I?"

The crowd roars with laughter and I smile at him, unable to deny he is putting me at ease. "No, now I'm here you're all rather nice." I admit. I'm talking about the Capitol residents I've been in contact with, as it is true that they've all been nice to me, if rather insincere, but the crowd seems to think I'm referring to them as they go wild. Caesar also claps, beaming at me, and pats me on the back of the hand.

"I'm so glad, because we are all so happy to have you."

The crowd cheer their agreement and I smile as Caesar shifts forward slightly, leaning in towards me.

"Now tell my Tyla, does nothing else scare you at all? Are you not worried about going into the games?"

He says it in a slightly hushed voice, as if it is just me and him, not an audience of millions, and though this question could easily be a minefield I keep Benton's direction in mind as I furrow my brow, trying to think of the truth.

"Not really. This was the most terrifying thing I could imagine. After this, the games will be easy."

It's obviously the right answer as the crowd go wild, and I smile round at them as Caesar beams at me. "Marvellous! Such bravery! Although I have to say Tyla.." He leans in to me again and the crowd, used to his body language, immediately quiet down expectantly.

"It's unusual for your District to not be at least a little scared. What reason could you have for not being nervous?"

Now this is tricky. Can I really confess this, in front of everyone? I consider it for half a second, but eventually I have no choice, as there is no other answer in my head, so I take a deep breath as I answer.

"The truth is, if I wasn't picked, I was going to volunteer."

There's a loud gasp from the crowd, and I can tell they are eating it up. The other tributes will think I am lying, attempting to look brave or curry favour from the audience, but I don't care. Caesars eyes widen comically and he touches his chest in amazement.

"You were not! Well that's just splendid! It's almost like…like it was destiny."

His eyes glaze over and I can see that he's pleased with himself, so I just nod at the ridiculous comment. There's a frisson though the crowd and I can tell they agree, so I just smile blankly and write them all off as idiots in my head as Caesar continues.

"Now Tyla. People may not know this, but you are a Community child. You have no family, nobody to look after, and yet I'm told that you've signed up for tesserae 40 times."

I'm surprised at this, both by the fact it has been mentioned at all, since it is totally irrelevant, and by the number. Can it really be that much? To be honest, I'd not been counting. All I can say for sure is that this year I signed up for twice as much as I did last year, and that all I was doing was daring myself, tempting fate, playing my own twisted Russian roulette. I'm sure I can't say that; it would make me look insane, so I simply say the only other thing that comes to mind. "If you say so. I've lost count." Caesar nods gravely as he turns to the audience.

"Let's not forget folks, Community children do not get their tesserae to themselves, it is divided between them. Tyla would have gained nothing from the tesserae but the knowledge that she was helping others."

I start a little, as this was not in any way my goal, and then look around at the audience as they all sigh in admiration. I'm coming across well, I realise in surprise. I've underestimated Caesars talents; if he can make _me_ look good, he is truly a master. I smile in what I hope is a humble manner and turn back to Caesar as he eyes me with obvious approval.

"The other children in the home must have been so grateful to you."

He says it softly, as if this is a big deal, but I have no idea if it's true or not since I didn't speak to any of them; I couldn't even tell him a single one of their names. I cast my eyes down instead, going for modesty instead of my actual reaction, indifference, as I reply.

"I don't really know. Perhaps they were."

I shrug, and the crowd coos at me. I silently thank Benton in my head for helping me field that question as Caesar once again fixed me with a solemn expression.

"So is that who you are fighting for? The Community house children?"

I immediately shake my head. Too quickly, but the idea is just so ludicrous that I can't stop myself. I take a deep breath and try to recover.

"No. Myself. I always fight for myself."

This goes down well with the self-centred citizens of the Capitol, and after the applause has died down Caesar leans forward and clasps his hands together, speaking softly. "Only yourself? Not your parents?"

"My parents are dead."

I say it slowly, wondering if he is stupid to be mentioning my parents now, after all this talk about the Community housing. It seems that I am the stupid one, however, as laughter ripples through the audience and Caesar beams around at them all before smiling at me patronisingly.

"Yes, but are you not fighting for their memory? Their honour? The bravery and valiance of their deaths?"

"Bravery?"

Now I'm really confused, and I don't hide it, staring blankly at Caesar as I speak. "They died in an accident. It didn't take a lot of bravery."

Caesar immediately brings his hands to his face, turning to the audience with a loud gasp. "Oh my Tyla, don't tell me you don't know. Folks, we may have a first here, a revelation on a grand scale, right here with all of you to share it."

There's a ripple of excitement around the room as I frown at him, totally blank as to what he's talking about. I shrink back a little, suspicious, as he leans forward, clasping my hands in his. The auditorium is hushed, so silent you could hear a pin drop as he speaks.

"Tyla, your parents did not die in an accident. Their unfortunate passing occurred right here, in the Capitol. They were contestants in the Hunger Games."

A gasp echoes around the crowd, but it's too much for my brain to take in, and I blink at Caesar, struggling to comprehend what he's saying, trying to make sense of the nonsense that's coming out of his mouth. He's shaking his head at me sadly, but I can see a spark of excitement in his eye telling me that he's in his element as he speaks again.

"Your parents fought so valiantly in the games, only to be defeated by our champion. The champion of the 50th games, the winner of the second quarter quell. Who, it just so happens, is here right now."

There's a gasp from the crowd, and I feel my throat tighten as I turn to look at the screen Caesar is gesturing at. The camera pans across the row of mentors to the very end, settling on the grim, shadowed face of the mentor from District 12.


	21. Chapter 21

I feel like I've been climbing up some stairs and I've miscounted, tried for a step that isn't there and fallen where I expected to be able to stand. It's like the entire of my life has been put in a snow globe and shaken around, and now I'm swirling in it, floating, trying to pull it back together, trying to put the pieces in an order that makes sense to me. Only no order does make sense. Nothing does. Not what I've been told, not the person saying it, not the expression on the face of the man on the screen in front of me. I want to search for Benton in the crowd, or Peyton, or even Caleb, any face that can give me something to hang on to, an anchor to bring me back to myself, but instead I'm unable to tear my eyes away from this one face. The face, so I'm told, of the man who destroyed my life.

I can hear the crowd as if muffled, like they're underwater, can vaguely hear Caesar saying something, but I'm unable to focus, unable to do anything but lock my eyes on this man. I don't recognize him, but for a victor he's reasonably unremarkable looking; in his early thirties, not overly tall or impressive, with a thin face, a haunted expression and straggly, dirty blonde hair. The only thing that sets him apart is his bright grey eyes; cold, smart, dangerous, and currently staring at me. Something in my head is telling me I should turn away, that I should focus myself, but I'm incapable of doing anything other than counting the beats of my heart and taking in every detail of the killer before me. I feel Caesar reaching for my hand, but I still can't bring myself out of my stupor, and its only when the camera cuts away from the District 12 mentor, only when my own dumbstruck expression appears in front of me, that I am able to dig through the dark swirling clouds of my mind and focus on the last piece of advice I received from Peyton.

'_Caesar likes to put on a good show. If he says anything that...surprises you, just make sure you remember you are on camera, you are being watched.' _

I swallow as this thought ricochets through my addled brain, and suddenly the noise of the crowd cuts back in and I am able to focus. _Not now_, I think. _I can't deal with this now_. Right now is about me, on camera, the world watching, and with this thought in my head I let out a gasp, clutching my hand around the one Caesar has placed in mine. He squeezes it back, obviously happy to have a coherent tribute again as he pats me firmly on the knee.

"Tyla, I can see this came as a big shock to you, but I think we can all agree this is another example of the world working in ways we can't understand. It may just be your destiny to play in these games."

He's talking rubbish again, but at least I'm able to cling to this, make some sense of it, and I nod quickly, gasping out the first thing that comes to my mind as he watches me expectantly.

"Yes. Yes, I was meant to be chosen."

The crowd erupts as the gong sounds, and Caesar claps loudly, waiting for the cheering to die down. He gestures up to the cameras as he speaks.

"That tells us our time is up, but I have one more thing to say to you."

The crowd waits, hushed, as he turns to me, clasping each of my shaking hands in his as he pulls them towards him, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Tyla. You're a Community girl who has had to fight for survival her entire life. You put your name in the draw dozens of extra times when you didn't have to. You were planning on volunteering before destiny intervened and selected your name. And your family history ties you to the Hunger Games in ways you didn't even know about. In light of all of this, I don't think anyone can argue that this is a game that you were truly born to play."

A hush falls over the audience, and I know that the entire world is listening, waiting for my response. I look up at Caesar, and I feel almost eerily calm as I say the only thing in the world I know I am sure of.

"I'm ready."

The noise from the crowd makes my ears buzz as they erupt into cheers, and Caesar kisses me on both cheeks, passing me over to be escorted back to my seat as he gives his parting comments.

"That's what we like to hear! Ladies and gentlemen, the girl who was born to play; your tribute from District 7, Tyla Ravenscroft!"

I allow myself to be shepherded back to my seat and drop numbly into it, ignoring the stares, the whispers and nudges from around me as the crowd continues to roar. It takes a few minutes for their excitement to die down, and though I know that Nico will be having his interview now I can't hear it, can't see him, can do nothing but stare at my hands. I spend the remainder of the interviews motionless, staring blankly downwards, my resolve to use the time to figure out the other tributes strategies forgotten as I instead struggle to keep down the contents of my stomach.

I can hear the sounds of the interviews as if they are far away from me, the occasional muffled laughter, the roar of the crowd that sounds so curiously distant. There's a peculiar fuzzing in my ears, a tingling running up and down my spine on a loop, and it's not until we are released from our seats and have trailed back to the training centre, until I am face to face with my mentors, when I realise what this tingling is. Its rage. Pure, pounding, blinding, overwhelming fury. At the sight of Xavier's excited face, Benton eyeing me warily, and Peyton's always impassive gaze hooked on mine, I can suddenly recognize it for what it is, and this rage pours forth from me like a waterfall as I throw myself at her.

I'm screaming, hammering my fists blindly and shouting words I can't even comprehend as I have nothing in my mind but that warning. The warning she was so careful to give. The warning that I should keep my composure, remember I was being watched if anything was said that I wasn't expecting. The warning that tells me only one thing- that she knew.

In the back of my mind, I know that we are in full view of everyone, that every tribute is probably watching me right now, but I don't care. _Let them look_, I think. _Let them see just how angry I can get_. I feel arms grasping me from behind, pulling me backwards, and I kick, out, aiming at nothing as Benton locks his arms around me and I am pinned motionless by his sheer brute strength. I continue to struggle as my eyes regain their focus and I can see the faces in front of me; Xavier looking utterly horrified, Peyton as expressionless as always, unmoved by my frenzied attack. And Benton.

It's this that throws me into silence, causes me to stop completely as I process that he's in front of me. He's gripping my arms, stilling me, his eyes locked on mine as he wills me into submission without saying a word, but it's not his arms that are around me, not him that's pulled me into the present. I hear him saying something, and process it slowly- are you done?- and I nod, my breath slowing as I feel the arms slowly pull back from me.

Benton looks up behind me and I turn, looking up into Caleb's eyes as he stares back at me, his face holding nothing but understanding and sadness. I swallow, not wanting to look back at him, and instead look past him at the assorted tributes. They are being quickly lead away by their own mentors but staring back at me nonetheless, and its then that I see Asha. I remember her from the reaping, remember thinking that she was strong, a potential threat, remember being amazed that she showed promise. Remember thinking how unusual that was for someone from her District. District 12.

As soon as this clicks into place my eyes shift to her right, and sure enough there he is. Her mentor. I feel a cold chill run over me and I push past Caleb, shake off Benton as I march towards him. To his credit, he pushes away from his tributes and walks to meet me, his face grim, eyes cold.

"Control your tribute, Benton, she's making a fool of herself."

He snaps snidely at me as I approach, and I feel Benton's hands lock onto my shoulders from behind me, holding me in place.

"Give it a rest, Haymitch. You saw what happened, it was butchery. She had no idea."

Haymitch shrugs and stares down at me. "That's the way the Capitol works. They know you better than you do. Aint nothing they can't get to. Best she learns that sooner rather than later."

I narrow my eyes, hating this cold, sarcastic man to the very core of his being, and grit my teeth as I speak. "You killed my parents," I spit, and he raises his eyebrows and gives a short laugh.

"And won't you? Won't you be killing anyone you can? Won't you be fighting against what could have been somebody's father, mother? Don't tell me that will stop you, because when you are in there, in the arena, where the only thing you can be certain of is death, it won't stop you. Nothing will."

I clench my fists, wanting to reach out and claw at his arrogant, mocking face, but Benton is behind me, willing me to turn and leave, and as much as I hate to admit it Haymitch is right. How can I blame him for fighting for his life? He's as much of a victim of this as they were, as I am. It may be true, but it doesn't stop me hating him, and I take deep breaths, trying to force my anger down as I send every dark thought I've ever had in the direction of this man. He glances up as Benton tugs me back slightly, pulling me away, and then ducks his head to me suddenly, his cold grey eyes level with mine.

"I'm sorry your parents are dead and not me. If I could change places with them, I would."

He speaks so fast I'm not sure it even happened, and with that he turns on his heel and marches away. Benton tugs at my shoulders again, and this time I allow him to turn me, to guide me back to the lift.

The others are gone, and as we step inside I lean back against the wall, letting out long slow breaths as the doors close and Benton leans against the wall opposite me, his eyes fixed on my face. I'm trying to right my brain, trying to pull myself back into the real world, but it's difficult. In just one second every little thing I thought I knew about myself has changed, and right now, the only thing that makes sense is Thornton's bizarre questions that caused me such confusion before. I think back to his queries, how he kept asking about my parents, and suddenly I understand it: he was trying to see how much I knew, trying to make sure this grand revelation would be as big a surprise to me as he hoped- a TV moment worth capturing. The realisation that he knew this about me, knew me better than I did, and that many others probably did too is a sobering thought, and after a moment I shift my eyes across to Benton and lick my dry lips slowly.

"Did you know?"

After a pause he gives a slight nod. I give a bitter bark of laughter and he steps forward, clasping my arms in his.

"I knew that they knew something about you, and that they were going to tell you at the interview, but that's all I knew, I swear. We were told to prepare you for a surprise. If I had had any idea…"

He cuts off, running his hand through his hair, and then looks back at me.

"I'm sorry, Tyla. We were expressly forbidden from saying anything, but I should have. I'm sorry."

I bury my face in my hands as my pulse races, and as the lift doors open I immediately push past him and race to my room. I close the door firmly, although I'm sure nobody would be foolish enough to follow, and immediately rip the dress from my body. The beautiful fabric falls to the floor in shreds as I pull every last piece of it from my skin, and then I barge blindly into the bathroom, turning the shower on full power. I sit on the floor and close my eyes as the water pummels onto my head, forcing every thought out of my brain. I don't know how long I sit there, minutes, hours, but I don't move until my heartbeat is steady, my breath is slow and every scrap of shimmer, every trace of the Capitol is washed away. Even then I stay, waiting, letting the heat and the force of the water become the focus of my world, of my thoughts, allowing myself to drift into oblivion.

When I eventually turn the water off I'm shivering, despite the boiling temperature I had it at, and I reach for a thick towel robe on the back of the door, wrapping myself in it. I tug myself shakily to my feet, my body trembling from the cold and the onslaught of emotion, and stumble from the bathroom, not pausing as I head to the door of my room and open it. I step blindly over a tray that has been placed there and head down the corridor, not stopping until I reach the door at the end of the hall, pushing it open and entering without knocking, stopping as the door closes behind me.

Benton, half asleep, blinks up at me, and then his face changes as his eyes shift into focus and he pulls himself from the bed. He's across the floor in a second, his arm gripping my shoulders, staring down at me.

"Tyla, you're freezing." I shrug him off and stare him down.

"I want to see their games."

He nods as if he's been expecting it. He steers me across to his bed, rubbing his warm hands on my shaking arms as he does, and urges me onto it, gathering the blanket over my shoulders before he turns and fiddles with the screen on his wall. I stay on the edge of his bed, letting the heat from his still warm blanket seep through me as I wait, and before long the sounds of the opening ceremony music are ringing out. It's older somehow, less brash and less modern, but it's the games, nonetheless, and I start as the familiar voice of Claudius Templesmith fills the room, declaring the most exciting games yet- the 2nd Quarter Quell. I've heard of them, but never seen one, and I look at Benton for help. He's stood in the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his bare chest and watching me. As soon as I look over he speaks up.

"To celebrate each 25th anniversary. This was the 50th games, they put in 48 tributes, 4 from each District."

I turn back to the screen as a presenter I don't recognize, presumably an early version of Caesar Flickerman, introduces the Head Gamemaker and they discuss the coming games. I glance at Benton again and he crosses over to me, reaching for a glass panel on his bedside cabinet and pressing a few buttons as the screen speeds up before me. He slows it down right as the familiar buildings of District 7 hit the screen, and I feel my stomach turn at the familiarity. It looks no different. It could be last week. And there's the mayor, younger but no less bored, reading the dreary opening speech. A rake thin woman with hair the colour of burnt popcorn leaps onto the stage, and the next thing I know she is drawing a paper slip and her high, Capitol voice is booming out.

"Clover Ravenscroft."

Every muscle in my body freezes as the camera pans to a face in the crowd. I never knew her name. But there she is. She's beautiful. I knew she would be, with long, golden hair, just like I've been told. And she's weeping uncontrollably. For some reason this angers me, and I watch in irritated fascination as she takes to the stage. The same stage I was on last week. This woman, so foreign to me, so hard to attach any meaning to, is my mother. I can't comprehend it. I stare at her face, trying to feel a connection, feel sadness, feel anything, but I feel strangely detached, almost confused. There's a shout, suddenly, from the crowd, and someone dives forward.

"I volunteer! I volunteer in her place!"

The escort laughs, shrill and bell like, and shakes her head at him joyfully.

"Come along now, you can't take the place of a girl young man, you know this." He swallows.

"Then I volunteer to go in too."

My mother cries out in horror, but the escort beams, reaching her hand out.

"Well that's a different matter entirely. Come on up, dear boy, and tell us all your name."

She holds the microphone under his mouth, and he stares past her, stares at my mother as he answers.

"Amias Ravenscroft."

My father. There they are, my parents, the faceless entities I spent my life wishing for, right there in front of me. I stare, transfixed, ignoring the other tributes as they are called, watching nothing but my parents, stood on the stage, their hands clutching each other. I'm trying desperately to drudge up some emotion, but I can't do it, can't connect myself with these strangers on the screen, can't feel anything other than fascination and a slight numbness.

The next reaping rolls along and I don't even have to look at Benton before he's forwarding it again, and he stops it right when my Amias is in the middle of his interview. "I've gone too far forward" Benton says apologetically, but I hold up my hand to stop him, my ears hooked on what Amias is saying.

"She's my wife, she's everything to me, and I couldn't just let her die. I had to save her. She's all I have."

_Liar_, I think, and my stomach leaps in repulsion. I turn quickly to Benton.

"I don't want to see this. I want to see the games. I want to see how they die."

I know it sounds morbid and strange but I don't care, and either way Benton just speeds the screen on without question. He slows it several times, whenever there's blood; normally it's just another faceless tribute, but eventually he finds it, and we both watch in silence.

My parents are worse than useless. They are fighting a couple, a girl I don't recognise and the younger version of Haymitch. He looks different, of course; young, less beaten down, still hopeful almost, but his eyes hold their same steely glint as he easily gets the best of Amias and quickly and efficiently slits his throat, leaving him to claw desperately in the direction of Clover as she screams his name before her own head is smashed in with a club. It's over so fast I can barely blink, and I stare at the screen as Haymitch helps up the girl and they carry on as if it's nothing.

I'm still staring long after the hovercrafts have picked them up, and eventually the screen goes black as Benton switches it off and then the bed sinks as he sits beside me. We say nothing, neither of us moves, and I simply stare blankly at the wall, trying to summon up some sort of emotion, anything at all other than cold indifference.

_That's your parents_, I tell myself. _You have to feel something_. But I can't. It doesn't seem real. I don't want it to be real. Because this does not match the picture I created in my head. My parents are brave, loving and selfless. They cared for me and they died tragically. My parents are not young and foolish and helpless and tearful, they do not weep when their name is drawn, they do not volunteer for the games when they have a child. They don't declare their love for their wife to be the only thing they have when they have a child. They don't choose to die with their wife rather than life with their child. They don't have a child when they could still be entered for the games. It's this thought, more than anything, that enrages me to speak for the first time.

"I hate them." I say, and Benton nods slowly.

"It's what they do. To them, we aren't people, we're just playing pieces."

I shake my head, angry that he hasn't understood me, even though his assumption makes more sense.

"Not the Capitol. My parents. I hate them." I see him look at me as I continue. "They're pathetic. They're useless. They couldn't do anything."

Benton turns to me, clutching my hands in his. "They did the best they were capable of. They were kids, Tyla. Just kids, like everyone else." I shake my head again.

"If they were kids, then why did they have a child? How stupid and self-centred and arrogant can you be to have a child when you could be called up for the reaping? And how unbelievably selfish do you have to be to volunteer?"

Benton says nothing to this. There's nothing to say. He knows I'm right. Because there's no excuse. There's no excuse to get married and have a child when you could be sent to die at any moment. Even if you want to get married, are old enough to, nobody is so foolish as do it until they are no longer eligible for reaping. There is often a rush of weddings in the months after the reaping, 18 year olds who have escaped being chosen, who now know they can begin planning their lives. They wouldn't do this before, unless they were very stupid. Like my parents. I must have served as a living, breathing reminder that you should wait. A human warning. An unwanted child with stupid, arrogant parents. Parents who didn't love her enough to stay. Parents who would rather volunteer to go to their deaths than keep her safe.

I place my head in my hands as this thought overwhelms me, and Benton slides his hand around my shoulders and pulls me too him, my head resting on his chest. Maybe he expects me to cry. I should cry. But I can't. I'm not sad. I don't morn for my parents, I truly hate them. In one second they've gone from being a perfect fantasy to a horrendous reality, and the only thing I'm mourning is the idea of them, the people they never were. The only thing I could possibly be sad about is the loss of something that never existed, and that might be the saddest thing of all.


	22. Chapter 22

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have done because the next thing I know I'm waking up in Benton's bed. I feel like I must have slept for days, but a quick glance at the clock tells me it's only midnight. I look around the room, but Benton's nowhere to be seen, and I'm glad. Now that I've had some time to process, sort my head out, I'm embarrassed at the way I acted, storming into his room like that. I can't even blame it on being emotional, since I am yet to display any reaction to this at all. I heave myself into a sitting position and wrap my arms around my knees, trying to summon up some depth of feeling, but there's nothing. The anger I felt earlier has dissipated into a kind of acceptance, a hollow understanding that I've managed to put behind me. I realise that I've unknowingly followed Peyton's advice once again- accept it and forget it, and I can't help but smile.

I heave myself off Benton's bed and wrap my dressing gown tight around me before creeping back down the dark hallway to my room. I'm hoping to do this unnoticed, but as soon I as open my door I realise this isn't going to happen. Peyton is sitting motionless in the chair by my door, and she starts when she sees me, as if she wasn't expecting me. She recovers quickly though, rising to her feet as I close the door behind me. For a moment we just look at each other, and then Peyton sighs.

"I'm sorry Tyla. That must have been difficult for you. And Benton said he showed you the footage, that can't have been easy either."

"It wasn't hard." I say truthfully, but Peyton must think I'm joking as she smiles.

"I wanted to assure myself that you weren't too badly affected. I appreciate it's not an easy thing to hear, but there's no reason it has to have any impact on you whatsoever."

I smile slightly. To most people this would be impossible, but the truth is that, if there is any impact, I'm yet to feel it. So far all I've felt is rage, and that's quickly settled into a kind of emptiness. In fact, the only anger I really feel is the embarrassment of ignorance, of being the last to know, and as this thought catches me I look up at Peyton.

"Did you know?"

"Yes."

There's no hesitancy, and no explanation like there was with Benton. She just knew. And the look on her face tells me she knew everything. I watch her, waiting for her to continue, and she eventually speaks.

"I won the 42nd Games, Tyla. Your parents were in the 50th. I was their mentor."

I take a moment to calculate this, sinking down onto the bed before I look up at her.

"You knew them?"

"Yes."

I swallow slowly as I take it in. "what where they like?" I ask, and she frowns, contemplating. I know I can rely on Peyton for an honest answer, and she gives it.

"Young. Hopeful. Immature. Emotional." She looks at me. "They were _nothing_ like you."

I let out a slow breath, her words rolling around in my head as she sits back in the chair and fixes her gaze on me.

"Your parents don't define you, Tyla. You didn't need them around to be more capable and strong than they could ever hope to be. I knew this straight away. I couldn't believe you were their child, you didn't seem like them at all. You seemed more….well, more like me."

My head snaps up at this admission, and she gives a small smile.

"I apologise for not warning you that this was going to happen, but the Capitol were very strict. They were insistent you shouldn't know. But it shouldn't affect you, Tyla. Yes, your parents were not what you thought, but they were also not a part of your life, so discovering this shouldn't change you, or your performance in the games."

She leans towards me, her earnest gaze focused on my face.

"I've always relied on myself, same as you have, and I've learned not to trust people, not to believe in them unless they proved themselves. I believed in myself. I believed in Benton. And now I believe in you."

I swallow, looking up at her. "You do?" I ask, and she nods.

"I really do. I can tell what it takes to be a winner, and I saw it in you the second I laid eyes on you. The Capitol will be hoping to mess with your head, make you act out of emotion, but you don't need to do that. It shouldn't change a thing. The best thing you can do is put this all out of your mind, and if you can do this, I truly and honestly believe that you will win."

I let out a long, shaky breath as Peyton rises to her feet.

"Try and get some sleep. You'll be leaving in a few hours, and then you'll be on your own. But remember, Tyla. Who your parents were, who anyone was, it doesn't matter. All that matters is you, and what you can do. Don't let anybody else effect you, keep your mind on the game, and if you do then you can't lose."

With that she's gone, leaving me to process everything I've been told. I keep waiting for some strong feeling to overwhelm me, but nothing comes. I can't relate to those people on the screen, and like Peyton says, they are nothing like me. It's almost better, I'm convincing myself, knowing that I am a product of myself, that everything I've accomplished is my own doing, not inherited or learnt from someone else. I feel more self-reliant, like nothing could touch me now, nothing could shock me, and I can't help but think this might be a good way to enter the games- with nothing to lose.

I glance at the clock again, and realise that Peyton is right- I do only have a few hours until the stylists pick me up, until I head to the arena. It feels unreal. I'm incapable of processing it, of summoning up any fear, worry, anxiety, anything. In fact, the only thing I do feel is hungry. I slept right through dinner.

I start as there's a quiet knock on the door, and a moment later Benton appears. It's like he's read my mind once again, as he's carrying with him the tray I stormed past earlier. He eyes me warily, like he's expecting my previous hysterics, and I feel my stomach lurch with embarrassment.

"Benton…I'm sorry. About before, storming into your room like that. I know I should have been able to control myself, that I overreacted." I trail off, shamefaced, as Benton raises his eyebrows.

"Are you kidding me? Considering what had just happened, that was more of an _under_reaction."

I stare at him in disbelief as he tilts his head, studying me thoughtfully.

"You really are a tough cookie, aren't you?"

I don't know what to say to that, so I simply bite my lip awkwardly, my eyes dropping to the tray. Benton follows my gaze and then steps forward, handing it to me.

"Here you go. On top of everything else, I didn't think the Gamemakers had the right to rob you of your last meal."

His face immediately changes to a look of horror as he realises what he's said, and he hastily backtracks.

"I mean, the last meal before you go in. Not the last ever..."

He trails off as I simply smile, taking the tray from him. "Thanks."

The tray is stacked with every possible kind of protein I can think of; it's exactly what I would have picked for myself if I had been present at dinner, and I imagine Benton is responsible for this expert recreation of my eating habits. I doubt many of the mentors pay this close attention to their tributes, and I turn gratefully to Benton as he sighs, slumping onto the bed beside me and leaning back on his elbows.

"Sorry, Tyla. What a bloody useless thing to say. It's honestly not what I meant at all. Some mentor I am."

"You're an amazing mentor!"

It slips out before I can think about it, but I'm just so amazed he would think otherwise. He looks at me in surprise, a wide beam of pleasure breaking across his face as he reaches out to cuff me lightly on the cheek.

"Is that so! Well you'll have to come back in one piece and prove it!"

I grin, turning back to the tray, and Benton watches me eat for a moment before he speaks.

"I hear Peyton spoke to you? Hope she did better than me. How do you feel?"

I frown for a moment, trying to come up with an answer that won't make me sound like a robot. "Fine. Good, actually. She told me that my parents shouldn't impact me at all because I never knew them, that I'm nothing like them."

Benton nods in agreement. "That's true. Anyone with eyes can see you're nothing like them. You could tell just from the reaping."

I think of Clover and Amias, weeping all over each other and shrieking like children, then the image that Caesar showed me on the screen comes into my head- me marching through the crowd, cold, defiant, determined. I nod firmly.

"Peyton's right. It doesn't need to affect me. I've never needed them and I don't now."

"Exactly. You looked after yourself, kiddo- do the same now and you can't lose."

Benton smiles, and we both fall silent as I turn back to my food. I'm determined to finish it all, and Benton stays, watching me as I eat my way through the entire tray, continuing long after I'm full. When I'm finally finished I sit back, and we both stare at the empty tray. "Better?" he asks, and I nod.

"Great." He says, leaping off the bed. "Then I'm going to have to insist you go to sleep. The last thing you want tomorrow is to be tired, believe me."

He sounds like he's speaking from experience, and for a moment I can imagine him, 16 and unable to sleep as he awaits the arena the next day. I want to go back in time, tell him he'll be ok, he'll survive; be there for him like he is for me, but it's impossible and ridiculous. He's fine. Better than fine, he's…Benton. He's unshakable. I look up at him standing in front of me, and he grins, holding out a hand to pull me up.

"Come on, Tyla, don't make me get strict," he teases as he tugs me to my feet, and I stand up beside him, smiling shakily. Suddenly I don't want him to go. If he leaves then I'll go to sleep, and after that there's nothing left for me but tomorrow morning, and everything that goes with it. I look at him anxiously, biting my lip, and his sparkling green eyes are instantly serious as he lowers them to mine, locking his hands onto my shoulders.

"You're gonna be amazing, Tyla. I can feel it. I know it. You've got it in you, right here."

He taps me on the chest, and then quickly clasps an arm round my neck and kisses me on the top of the head.

"Knock em' dead, kiddo," he mutters, before turning to leave.

I watch him go for a second, trying to find comfort in his faith in me, and am just turning to head to the bathroom when he stops in the doorway.

"Oh, and Tyla."

I turn back to him and he raises an eyebrow.

"That boy of yours, from District 10. From what I saw tonight, he's good to have around in a crisis. For my money he could be worth holding on to."

I feel an inexplicable flush creep into my cheeks, and Benton's face breaks into that wide, famous smile as he flashes me a wink before ducking out the door. As the door closes behind him, I feel a sudden rush of something wash over me. I'm not sure what it is, but it feels final, and I don't like it. Ignoring it, I quickly get ready for bed and before I know it I'm under the sheets, internally begging sleep to come to me. It doesn't, of course. I've never been more awake in my life.

I try to think about my parents, my new found knowledge, everything I've learned tonight, but I can't keep them in my head. It's like my brain is a platform and they keep slipping off the sides, leaving room for the people who, for some reason, do matter. Peyton and Benton, who feel more like family than anything I've ever had, and unfortunately, Caleb.

I think about him watching me in the interview room, how he was by my side in seconds as we left, the look on his face; not pity, but…something else. Something better. Try as I might, I can't turn him into the untrustworthy creature he's proved himself to be, can't relate him to the actions assigned to him by the other tributes. All I can see is his smiling face as he kept me company in the training room, the laughter in his eyes as he teased me, the way he smiled as his hair fell across his face. The feel of his strong, unshakeable arms, holding me when I needed it. All these thoughts and more roll around in my brain, and despite my newfound dedication to isolation, despite my resolve to trust nobody, particularly not a boy who has given me reason not to, when sleep does finally come to me my last thoughts are not of the faces of my newly discovered parents, but of the beautiful face of the boy from District 10.


	23. Chapter 23

It feels like I've only just closed my eyes when they shoot open and I sit up, my heart pounding as I stare around the room. It takes me a moment to regain my breath, and as I wipe the sweat from my forehead I remind myself that that there is no reason for my body to be acting this way; for now at least, I'm safe. I've never been able to remember my dreams, and I've always imagined it's because they weren't worth remembering, but it's not hard to guess the theme of those that have dragged me so harshly out of sleep as my entire body is on edge, my pulse racing as if I have been running.

_So much for a restful night_, I think bitterly, cursing my body for feeling the fear that my mind has so far failed to recognise, since it has resulted in me feeling like I haven't slept in days. Despite this, I am far to awake to attempt to fall asleep again, and besides, a glance at the clock tells me I will be leaving soon. I swallow a sudden lump in my throat and push all thoughts out of my head, pulling myself to my feet with all the energy of a zombie and throwing on my training outfit. With little else to do I sit on the very edge of my bed to wait. I stare at the door expectantly, my mind a blank, not even able to summon up enough emotion to be afraid. It's like the events of the last few days have taken their toll, and now nothing can shock me. I imagine this is a good thing, although I can't get used to the strange sensation of feeling nothing. I sit and stare blankly, passing the time by attempting to drudge up some semblance of emotion until there is finally a quick tap on the door. Renic immediately breezes in, stopping short when he sees me on the edge of the bed and smiling stupidly at me.

"My my, aren't we eager! That's what I like to see! Come along then my girl; your audience awaits!"

He's as excitable as ever; it's like he's forgotten he's here to lead me to my death, and any respect I had summoned up for him after his impressive outfitting skills vanishes as I follow him numbly down the corridor. My eyes leap towards Benton's door as we pass it, feeling an urge to see a friendly face for the last time, but I ignore it. It would be a brief and pointless attempt at putting off the inevitable, and besides, he's probably not there anyway. He and Peyton will have already left for the games headquarters, where they will spend the next few weeks doing everything they can to help Xavier win us sponsors whilst we are in the arena.

The arena. In just a few hours, that's where I will be; where I'll spend, in all likelihood, the remainder of my life. My mouth goes dry at the thought, and for the first time since I arrived here I feel real fear; strong enough to make me want to turn and run.

Renic pushes open the door on the roof and I gasp as a burst of cold air hits me in the face. A hovercraft, identical to the one I saw that day in the woods, is floating silently above us, and as we approach a rope ladder spirals down. Any ideas of escape are made utterly impossible, as the second I reach numbly for the ladder some sort of electrical charge passes through me, and I'm held in place as I'm pulled up into the hovercraft. I watch through paralysed eyes as Renic bustles into the craft behind me whilst a man in a grey outfit injects something into my arm, and then the electrical charge fades and my body is set free. Well, as free as it can be.

The door slides firmly closed and we immediately begin moving towards the arena. The games start at 10, although this is a courtesy extended to give the audience time to prepare, not us, and by the height of the sun in the sky I would guess that give me just under 2 hours. In less than 2 hours, I could be dead. The thought causes a lump to catch in my throat, and my previous urge to see a friendly face returns. Unfortunately all I have is Renic, and as my eyes fall on him he smiles widely, reaching for my hand.

"Don't you worry about that, just a little tracker. The pain will be gone in no time."

He gestures to my arm and I look down at it in surprise, as I hadn't noticed any pain. My worries were entirely on my impending death, but this doesn't seem to have occurred to Renic; he is still bumbling on about how excited he is about this year's games as he ushers me into what looks like a small dining room.

I manage to tune him out as I eat my breakfast, shovelling in as much food as possible. My body is still full from last night's impromptu feast, but I ignore any objections from my stomach as I robotically lift spoon after spoon of whatever I can each into my body. _You'll need it_, I think. _Trust me, in a few days you'll wish I'd eaten more_. My body must understand on some level as I am still eating long after Renic has stopped, a feat I never thought achievable. Renic has also stopped speaking, something else I never thought possible; perhaps for the first time he has noticed he has no audience for his ramblings. Whatever it is I am grateful to eat my last meal in peace, and I don't look up, don't stop forcing food down my throat until the hovercraft has slid to a stop and the man in grey has come to escort us to the arena.

My body is frozen back onto the ladder, and I am lowered down into a hole that leads under the arena. There I am greeted by two stony faced guards who escort me silently to what will be the last thing I see before the arena- my launch room. Renic has vanished along the way, and I can't tell if I am glad to be alone or not. I choose not to decide, instead stepping into a glass cubicle and taking the longest, hottest shower I can bear before towelling myself off and pulling my hair back into its customary bun. I don't bother getting dressed, simply sit and stare at the wall as I wait for Renic to reappear.

He soon does, presenting me with the outfit I am to wear in the arena and fussing over the "ugliness" as I pull it on. They're as good as I could have hoped for, my death robes- entirely black, and made of a skin-tight, lightweight, stretchy fabric. I'm supplied with trousers, a vest and a long sleeved jacket with a zip up the front, and the boots are black to match, with sturdy, tread-laden bases. The outfit is light and easy to move in, and I stand in the mirror inspecting myself whilst Renic stands behind me, tutting at the "lack of imagination" of my costume.

I realise this is the first outfit I have worn since I arrived here that has made me really feel like _me_- I am almost able to convince myself I am back in the District, about to head to the clearing. It's oddly comforting, and I spend the remainder of my time wallowing in this feeling. I stare blankly at my reflection, finding comfort in it, until a pleasant female voice announces it is time for the launch.

Renic and I both jump slightly, and I feel my pulse immediately lift as I turn to look at the launch plate. Despite myself I look at Renic, but I don't know what I'm hoping for; words of comfort perhaps? He steps towards me firmly, reaching his short stubby arms up to place his hands on my shoulders as he fixes his beady gaze on mine.

"Listen to me my girl, I want you to do your very best, you hear me? Whatever you do, try to come back alive."

I start, tears threatening at my eyes as I look into the serious face of this foolish, portly man who has, against the odds, managed to give me some final words of hope. I smile at him and he beams back, leaning forwards conspiratorially.

"I have the most perfect outfit in mind for your victory interview, you see, and I couldn't bear to see it go to waste."

I bite my lip, feeling foolish for thinking he was anything other than the ridiculous, Capitol idiot I have always known him to be. How desperate I must be, at this moment, to believe he was capable of anything other than innate awfulness. It's like a final reminder that self-reliance is all I have from now on, and steeling myself I shake his hands from my shoulders and turn away, stepping onto the circular metal plate as a tube lowers around me.

It cuts off any sort of noise, and all I can hear is my own shaky breath against the glass in front of me. There's a jolt as the plate begins to rise, and as I am plunged into blackness I suddenly wish that I had turned to look at Renic. However awful and thoughtless he was, in his own stupid way he was trying to help me, which has to count for something. Besides, he was potentially the last person I would see on this earth who wasn't trying to kill me. But it's too late now, and as the plate rises the only company I have is the sound of my heart in my ears, pounding out my fear in perfect rhythm.

The darkness is sucked away as suddenly as it came, and I wince as a bright light hits me. I feel wind on my skin, but as much as I blink and try and focus I can't see anything. I suddenly understand the meaning of the phrase 'blind panic', as that is what has happened to me. Pure, white-hot fear is making its way through my body, washing over my eyes so that all I can see is black spots dancing across my vision, framed by the bright sunlight. I'm vaguely aware of the wind around me, the smell of trees and salt on the air, but my brain is in overdrive and I am unable to see, or think, clearly.

Suddenly, the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms across above me, declaring the start of the 67th games, and I grit my teeth, telling my body to get a hold of itself. I shake my head until my eyes slide into focus, and for the first time get a clear view of the arena. I turn my head this way and that, taking in everything around me, and whilst my overriding feeling is still panic, another, entirely unexpected emotion is pushing its way to the surface. Relief. Because I know this place. I am back, in the forest behind District 7 where I have spent so much of my life. I am in my clearing.


	24. Chapter 24

**Thanks for reading, and so much for reviewing- I'm trying not to interrupt the flow of the story too much by saying so, but rest assured I love the feedback, and reviews really spur me on to write faster! **

**And so- to the games...**

* * *

My heart is still pounding as my mind struggles to fight through the black terror to comprehend what it sees around me. There is no explanation for it- it's so unlikely that despite my current predicament, I suddenly want to laugh. It's not my clearing, of course, but it may as well be. I am stood at the centre of a flat expanse of dry, brown earth, which gradually trails into grass as it spreads out to the edges. Out of the corner of my eye I can see rippling water, and as I turn to look behind me I see a massive lake, framed by a huge, rocky mountain which towers overhead. To my left is a dense forest which stretches all the way along beside me, curving round into a wide expanse of sandy ravines, and these gradually turn into a dense, mossy forest which circles round to my right, connecting back with mountains behind me. It's almost ludicrous- this is my clearing exactly, from the cliff face adorning the pool, to the sandy ravines which are large scale versions of the sand filled trenches, to the thick, clustering trees that surround us on all sides. I could be right back in my forest, if it were not so mind-bendingly huge. I can't believe my luck-I could not have asked them to create a better arena. I have been placed in my training ground, a place I know as well as my own mind. I'm still struggling to comprehend this massive stroke of fortune I have been handed, when my brain shifts into focus and I hear the timer ticking down. It's already on 39. The momentary reprieve from fear I allowed myself in the time I took to revel in my surroundings immediately vanishes, and I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I quickly bring my mind back from my vast surroundings and instead survey the immediate vicinity.

We are all stood on our platforms surrounding the Cornucopia, which is its traditional cone shape but is made of a dark, oppressive, inky-black metal which seems to absorb the light from all around it. The end of the cone twists up backwards into a sharp point that doubles back over the front, and the overall effect is of a large scorpion, poised to strike whoever should dare approach. So who will dare?

27 seconds. I quickly assess the tributes around me. We are arranged in a semi-circle, equal distance from the Cornucopia, but I am far to the right, equal running distance from the steep sloping rock face with the pool behind and the forest to my left. I have only one tribute to my right, the boy from District 3 whose name I could never remember. He is unlikely to make a run for the Cornucopia, and as I suspect he is turned away from it, his feet primed to run towards to woods. He must be sure of his skills on feeding himself.

13 seconds. I turn my head to the left and see Jaya, my potential ally from District 11. In contrast, she is most defiantly looking to head for the Cornucopia, and as if she senses me watching her she turns suddenly and locks eyes with me. I feel a jolt in my stomach at the menace in her eyes, and turn my head away, heart pounding as I focus all my attention back on the Cornucopia. It hits me for the first time that these people are now hunting me, and I'm suddenly cursing my 'lone wolf' strategy. Seeing her expression, I'm suddenly wondering if my rejection of the alliance has made me a target for her wrath, if maybe I should have joined them in their mission to take out the careers rather than become another of their enemies. But I don't have time to think about that now. I don't have time to think about anything other than the signal that time's up. The games have begun. Time to run.

It's fortunate that my body is able to act of its own accord, as my mind is still struggling to comprehend that the gong has gone off when my feet are streaking like fire across the hard ground. By the time my mind has caught up I am already racing away from the Cornucopia, a thick black bag on my back, a spear in one hand, an axe in the other. I don't have time to marvel that my body was able to seize all this unaided before I hear a whistling in the air behind me, and I just manage to duck to the left as an arrow flies past my ear. I spin round to see Jaya racing up behind me, already fitting another arrow to a large silver bow and pointing it right at me.

There's no point in running, so instead I race towards her. I register the look of shock on her face as I raise my axe, and my arm muscles are already tensed to swing when blood spatters across the front of my shirt. I am about to panic when I realise it's not mine. The tip of a sword is protruding from her shirt, and she jerks violently towards me, her body seizing before she collapses. I look up into the cold, determined eyes of Orla, and without pausing let fly the axe intended for her victim. It lets out a sickening thud as it hits its target, and before she has even reacted I have raced forward, tugged it from her chest and swung it around until it makes contact with her temple. I hear a sharp crack and she makes a strange, inhuman noise as she hits the ground. I allow myself half a second to wrench a rolled black pack from her hand before I turn and race as fast as I can in the direction of the forest.

I can hear footsteps, shouts, screams and the unmistakable sounds of death coming from behind me but I carry on running, ignoring everything but the feel of one foot pounding in front of the other. I run what for what feels like an eternity, keep running for as long as it takes for my body to leave panic mode, to tune back in and realise I can no longer hear the Cornucopia, that I'm alone, that there isn't anyone following me; no immediate danger.

As my brain finally registers this I slam suddenly to a halt, dropping the items in my hands as I bend double, gasping and wrenching as I draw breath after breath into my desperate lungs. I've never run for my life before, not really, and it's not a pleasant experience. I feel faint, sick, as if I could collapse at any second; my feet are burning and there's sweat pouring off me. I look down at my hands, pinned shakily to my knees, and see they are red and raw from clinging desperately to my prizes. I straighten up and cast my eyes around, making doubly, triply sure there is nobody around before I allow myself to collapse to the floor. I'm still breathless but I'm able to pull myself up against a nearby tree, dragging my bags towards me as I do.

_I made it_, is all I can think. _I'm still alive. I'm still here_. The thought makes me break into a wide, breathless smile, and I run my hands over my face, closing my eyes. When it's under threat, and when it's all you have, being alive is the best thing in the world.

When my heart rate has crept down I finally pull my prizes towards me. First I reach for the black roll I was so careful to claim from Orla, the one that caused my stretched hands such pain as I struggled to hold it with my axe. My axe! My heart leaps in panic and I look up, but there it is; lying where I left it, along with my spear. My chest swells in relief as I reach for them and tug them close. These precious trophies, that I was so desperate for and risked my life to win, are the only thing that gives me a chance, makes me feel safe, and I don't want to let them out of my sight.

Looking at them makes me think of the battle scene I have just left, and I feel a slight pinch of something that might be shame. After all my training, my abilities, my high score, all I did was run from the first sight of violence. My weapons seem less precious at this thought- for what good are they if I don't use them? I haven't lived up to my score, that's for sure, and as I think of the careers, fighting away still at the Cornucopia, I reluctantly acknowledge that they deserved to score more than I did- we may have similar talents, but their bravery has been proved to be superior to mine. With my talents, and the weapons I have, I should have stayed, should have fought it out, tried to end a few more lives; proved myself to the audience. That's what I should have done, but any thoughts of fighting left my head-the instinct to run and preserve myself was overwhelming. It's curious to me that I reacted that way; I have no reason to want to survive, nothing to go home to, nothing to fight for but survival itself, and I had always thought I would throw myself in with nothing to lose, put up a fight and go down in a brave battle. Instead my instinct towards self- preservation kicked in, and my body, as it so often does, made the decision for me. I can't figure out if I regret it- though I am undoubtedly glad not to be involved in the battle, I am aware of how it will make me look to an audience. I will not have won the support of sponsors in running away, that's for sure, and that will not have made Benton or Peyton's job easier; however they spin it, who would want to sponsor a coward?

I feel slightly sick at the thought that I have let myself down, but I force myself to push this aside. I may be skilled, but I have no real experience in fighting, only hunting- it makes sense to skip out on the battle and wait for them to let lose in the forest. That is where I will show the audience what I can really do.

This realisation cheers me enough that I feel worthy of my weapons again, and with this in mind I turn back to my prizes, unravelling the black pack I stole from Orla. As I had hoped it contains a strip of knives, and I feel a lift in my chest at the sight of them glinting in the sunlight. My three best weapons are now in my possession- it's more than I could have hoped for, and looking at them I feel a distinct spark of excitement. The only things I could have needed to win and I have them.

_Them and more,_ I suddenly realise, tugging the bag off my back. I'm still amazed I was able to get so much, that despite all of the people running for the Cornucopia I was able to make it out alive, and with these items. The bag is large- somewhere in the recess of my mind I recall reaching for the biggest I could see, and I eagerly tug it open, laying the items out one by one.

There's a long, lightweight sleeping bag, a length of rope with a large metal carabineer on the end, a small firelighter, a coil of thick wire, a tube of wheat crackers with a small tin of some sort of meat paste, a sparse medical kit containing a bandage, some cotton swabs, a bottle of iodine and a box of small white pills, and best of all there's a large flask- and it's filled with water. Getting to some water was one of my directions from Peyton, one I had disregarded in my attempts to escape the Cornucopia, and I find I'm overwhelmed with relief to have it now- and thirstier than I had realised. I only allow myself a few sips, though, deciding I will drink more when I am certain I can refill the flask, and once I am done drinking I carefully repack my bag.

The last item in the bag is a long, thin knife, and though it is of little consequence compared to the rest of my weapons I leave it out of the bag. I will need to keep my roll of knives packed away, and I can't resist the urge to keep this weapon on my person in case I need quick access to it; this knife could be the difference between me living or dying. I slot it into a pocket on the side of my boot before pulling myself to my feet and setting off again.

There's no need for me to run anymore but I keep up steady jog regardless, reluctant to let my body rest for more than a second. I carry on for a while, mindlessly trekking through the forest to an unknown and unspecified destination. I suppose I should really make a plan of some sorts, but the woods are so quiet that it's hard to feel the threat this far out, and any sense of urgency that might propel me to make decisions is non-existent. In fact, I could almost be back at the District, heading through the woods to my training ground, but with tall, solid oaks instead of the wiry pine trees I am accustomed to. This is a good thing, I imagine, as they are higher and will afford me a better glimpse of the arena. The thought stops me in my tracks, as I am suddenly driven to see exactly where I am, how far I have come- and perhaps catch sight of the battle. It's a strange impulse, one that surely can't help me in any way, but I'm used to routine, missing having a goal to achieve. As a result I find myself clinging to this thread of an idea, and before I know it I have stashed my weapons out of sight and begun scaling the nearest tree. My fingers are instantly accustomed to this new surface and I am halfway up before I hear a noise that makes my mission superfluous- the boom of the cannon.

I freeze exactly where I am, cursing the height I have achieved as the wind is hampering my hearing, but it quickly becomes apparent that it doesn't matter; the loud, unmistakable booms of the cannon are impossible to miss. I count them as they slowly succeed the other, so inferior a marking for the life- or death- of a tribute, and as the last one rings out and silence returns I have reached 11.

11 dead. I'm supposed to feel glad, I'm sure, that in a matter of hours the pool of tributes has almost halved, but all I can feel is an anxious worry that I know wont abate until I see the faces of the tributes in the sky later- until I know for sure that one of those cannon fires did not signify the death of Caleb. I hate that he's still on my mind, that after everything my thoughts still instantly go to him, but I can't deny that I'm worried, that I'll continue to be worried until I see the projection in the sky. Until then I force myself to put it to the back of my mind -worrying will help nothing, as there's no way of knowing Caleb's fate now. All I know for sure is that the battle, the thing that was distracting the careers and buying me time, is over; from now on the hunt has officially begun.

A sudden chill rushes through me that has nothing to do with the wind. Suddenly I feel unsafe, balanced so precariously on top of this tree. It seemed a fine choice 5 minutes ago, but now I feel too exposed, and after a quick scan of the surrounding area I decide to head towards a dense cluster of trees about 2 hours away. After hastily scaling back to the ground I gather my weapons and set off, my feet quicker now, my heart pounding harder, real menace in the air that wasn't there before. I'm no longer just running through the woods- now, I'm running away.

I take more care with my footsteps, pausing to listen out at the tiniest sound; this hinders my speed, and it's a good few hours before the woods thicken and I know I have reached my designated safe zone. It's as dense as I thought, but there's another reason I was so keen to head towards it, one that was brought to my attention by the wind when I was so high in the oak tree- the smell of pine. It was slight, but unmistakable, and this is the direction it came from. As the pine trees rise up around me, intermingling with the forest, I can't help but feel myself relax. Despite the knowledge that I could, even now, be being hunted, it's an instinct I can't hold back- I have spent my entire life surrounded by pine trees, and the smell makes me think of the District, the clearing, of familiarity and certainty.

I drop my pace to a steady walk as I allow myself to indulge in the feeling of being of familiar turf, the smell of the pine overwhelming me with a misplaced feeling of safety. I don't even need to close my eyes to take myself back to the District, but I can't allow myself to stay here, in this safe fantasy. I have to remember where I am, the intentions of the other tributes who have not forgotten why they are here and are not allowing themselves to drift into another world.

I force myself back to reality and immediately feel a prickling sense of unease as I realise my first mistake, something so obvious I can't believe I didn't notice it. I had got carried away with the fantasy of being back in the District, where I have a curfew & have to be home early enough that I am unused to looking out for the darkness. As a result, it has slowly but surely crept up on me. I don't know why I hadn't noticed the sun sinking in the sky, but it has, and though it's not totally dark yet I only have a small amount dim light left.

I immediately click into gear, pushing all thoughts from my head other than the immediate necessity of finding a safe place to sleep, and a quick circuit of the surrounding area tells me what I already knew- the best thing to do is go up. Fortunately my training means I am as at home in the trees as on the ground, and being surrounded by pines only makes this more true as I know these trees better than any other. As a result, I am soon able to select a tree I know will provide good cover from the ground, and by the time darkness has fallen I am secured in the branches, strapped down with my rope and with the carabineer locked onto a branch. Considering where I am it's as safe as I can possibly feel, and I am just leaning into the trunk, allowing my mind to relax, finally letting my guard down enough that I can sleep, when a sudden, loud and unexpected noise cuts through the darkness.


	25. Chapter 25

I sit bolt upright, almost tumbling from the tree as panic sucks the wind from my lungs and my stomach muscles clench in fear. I recognise the noise before my body can calm itself and I let out a slow breath, relief and then embarrassment flooding me when I realise it's the anthem booming from the sky. I wince up through the leaves into the sky as the logo is projected across the darkness, shaking my head at my own ineptitude. I've watched the games for as long as I remember; I know these projections happen at nightfall, and still I'm so on edge that the sound made me panic.

The sight of the Panem logo, hovering precariously in the sky for all of us to see, makes me really think of the other tributes for the first time- where they are & what they're doing- and as I consider it a sudden thought hits me. I draw a knife from the pack and on the trunk beside my head I carve 12 pairs of lines - a pair for each set of tributes. Then I turn my head up and watch the sky, waiting.

The first face flashes up, and I actually gasp out loud in shock. It's Leon, the District 2 tribute. I blink, trying to ensure I'm not seeing wrong, and then hurriedly cross him off as his face vanishes and is replaced by the girl from 3. I can't remember the last time the District 2 tribute was dead on the first day- they're so often the winners that you grow accustomed to seeing them right up to the end, so to have him gone already has immediately changed the game, upped the stakes.

The next face to flash up is Orla, and I feel a strange jolt of recognition at seeing my work displayed before me. I'd almost forgotten that it happened; it seems so long ago, and I could have almost convinced myself it wasn't real if she wasn't there in front of me, proof of my own bloody actions. I have barely a second to take this in before her face vanishes and the next flashes up, forcing my attention onwards.

Both the tributes from 5 are dead, and I regard Jasper's surly face in surprise. I had marked him out with potential, and I'm surprised he didn't make it any further. I imagine he tried to take on a career- he has that look about him, one I recognise from myself. It's the look of someone who has nothing to lose, who doesn't fear death any more than they fear life.

The boy from 6, both tributes from 8 and the boy from 9 slide past me, and I thankfully acknowledge with an unexpected feeling of camaraderie that Nico has made it. Perhaps his plan to escape the arena worked, I think, and a mocking smile tugs at my face just as Jaya's face arrives. I briefly curse my timing, as that smile must have looked retaliatory; like I was gloating at her death after she attempted to cause mine, but I don't have long to consider it as I am quickly overwhelmed with relief that there were no faces from 10. That there was not one face in particular.

The boy from 12 is the last casualty of the first day of the games, and as the sky drops into darkness and silence returns I allow myself to finally settle back as my mind pans over the events of the day. It's been a good one, all things considered. Two careers dead, that's unusual, and one of them killed by me.

I hadn't allowed myself any time to think about this. At the time it was survival- she was a threat and I eliminated it. It seemed necessary, obvious, and it's only now, in the dark with time to think, that I am able to really consider it. That I've killed someone.

I attempt to summon up some emotion, but I'm forced to admit that the only reaction I can feel to the faces in the sky is relief- relief that Caleb was not one of them. Instead of punishing myself for still allowing him a place in my head, I let myself wallow in that relief. He's still out there. The boy with the beautiful face, the boy who made my time in the Capitol bearable; he's still alive. It may be irrational, given his betrayal, given he is one extra tribute hunting me down, but I am glad that he's ok; despite knowing that we are all forced to be here, I can't help but think that someone who is still unwilling to comprehend the idea of killing another is worthy of his life.

I know for certain that Caleb would be wracked with guilt if he had killed Orla, and picturing his face when he told me how he couldn't consider killing someone is as close as I imagine I will come to feeling guilt. I don't know why I feel like I should feel bad, but I do. I want to be humanized, I suppose, and on some level I feel you can't be forgiven for taking a life unless you are remorseful. Like Caleb would be.

Holding his face in my mind, I close my eyes and will the guilt to come, but I feel nothing. Not shame, not sadness, nothing. Nothing other than the cool evening breeze on my skin and a warm glow of contentment, of relief at my own survival, even at the cost of another.

* * *

If a normal person would have had trouble sleeping whilst trapped in an arena of death, especially having killed someone that very day, then this must surely be a definite sign I am not one; the sun is only just rising when I awake and yet I feel refreshed, indicating I must have fallen asleep almost immediately.

This thought troubles me, and although I know I should move I stay still, motionless in my tree, trying once more in vain to dredge up some sort of emotion. For the first time since I saw my parents my mind drifts onto them, and I find myself wishing that I'd watched more of their games, seen more of them. More specifically, seen if they killed someone. I suppose I'm looking for some validation, some proof that it's ok- that they did it too. But then, like Peyton said, they have had no bearing on my life whatsoever, so trying to find comfort in them now is nothing but foolishness.

Despite this I find I do feel comforted- not because of them, but because of Peyton. Thinking of her advice has brought me back to reality, to the truth of my situation, and more importantly has validated my actions in my head. I only did what Peyton did; she survived, and I've never questioned that. In fact I never questioned killing at all before I actually did it, and even now it's the fact that I don't feel guilty that's troubling me more than anything else. I decide not to consider it any further- I can't make myself feel an emotion I don't have. The best thing I can do now is follow Peyton's advice: accept it and forget it.

I think of them, her and Benton, watching me back at the game building, and immediately the surge of energy I had been lacking runs back into my bloodstream. I recall all the work and effort they put in to me, the effort they are still putting in to try and keep me alive, and I feel like I owe it to them to get up, get out, do something. Today I will not run and hide. Today I will prove my worth, earn my score. Today I will play.

My first thought is to food; I didn't eat at all yesterday and have woken up starving. I have my crackers but they won't last long, which means that at some point I need to hunt. I also need to find water, and ideally a secure base. It's a daunting list, but I relish it; having tasks to fulfil has given me a purpose. I inhale 2 of the crackers, ignoring my stomach's request for the large breakfast to which it has quickly become accustomed, and after allowing myself a little too much water I gather my things, check the area cautiously, climb to the ground and set off.

I'm grateful that it's early, as I imagine the rest of the tributes will still be sleeping; I'm certain this will be the case for the careers, who will hunt through the night and wake up late in the day if they follow the pattern of the other careers. I'm certain they will, as it happens every year such neat predictability that it seems like a strategy taught to them all. That's fine, I have my own strategy; stock up and start hunting.

I run as silently as possible through the undergrowth, slow enough to keep my energy levels up but fast enough to make good time. I've decided to target the rocky cliffs that stood behind me at the Cornucopia, and they are least half a day away now. Still, I think it will be worth it; my first instinct was to run and hide in the forest, and I imagine that many of the other tributes will have had the same idea. This means the best place for me is the mountains; they are so sparse and difficult to access I can't imagine anyone will attempt it, and if I pick somewhere difficult to get to I will be relatively certain of being left undisturbed, of finding somewhere secure I can return to after hunting. The thought cheers me enough that I pick up the pace, and although I am attempting to move fast I keep reminding myself to keep an eye out for any movement- either human or edible.

My caution pays off less than an hour later; I spot a flash of movement which, whilst initially causing me to freeze and seize my spear, soon leads me to a flock of wild birds. They look like oversized chickens to me, but they look perfectly edible, and three knives later I have three of the fattest birds plucked and roasting over a small fire. I've figured it's early enough to get away with this, but I still leave them cooking as I guard the perimeter. I eat one straight away, relishing the feeling of being full, and then tear the meat off the other two, wrapping it in the bandage from my medical supply kit and stashing it in my bag before I set off again. I'm even more energized now I've eaten, and the ease with which I've managed it has lifted my mood.

I continue heading east, back towards the centre of the arena, and though I am alert I allow my mind to drift, playing out an extended fantasy of my next few days. It involves me waking early every morning, hunting down a relative feast of wild animals, picking out a tribute or two from afar and then returning victorious to a cave in the cliffs to see out another night unharmed. It sounds so easy, so comforting; I can't help but cling to the idea that it may be possible, but of course it relies on me finding a source of water. I've no evidence yet that there is anything other than the lake I first witnessed, which will lead me unfortunately straight back to the Cornucopia. I'm reluctant to go here, as once again experience tells me that this is most likely where the careers will be. They don't feature in my plan at all- I suppose I'm hoping they'll take Caleb and Nico out for me and then turn on each other, but that's so unlikely my brain won't even let me pretend it could happen. Instead I just put them out of mind and focus on the present.

I've long since left the heavily wooded area I chose to spend the night in, instead moving through sparse trees with sporadically placed clearings. It's making me uneasy, being in such plain sight, and by the time the sun is high enough to make it at least 10am any positivity from earlier has faded into frustration tinged with anxiety. I'm yet to find a source of water, and though I still have at least half my flask left I'm cursing my arrogant assumption I would find more when I helped myself earlier. I'm thirsty now, my throat dry and scratchy, but I want to keep moving, get out of these barely sheltered glens and back into the thicker woodland I know surrounds the base of the cliff.

_You deserve it_, I tell my dehydrated body. _You should have thought twice_. It's not like I even found that water- I grabbed it, same as the careers. I'm no better than them, relying on prizes and not wits. The thought makes me angry, pounding through my head until this combined with my thirst has given me a headache. The bright sun is higher in the sky than before, making it worse, and almost seems to be mocking me; telling me I haven't done enough with my time, haven't used my skills and resources wisely. I know this is true, and the thought that I have let myself down is what finally drags me to a reluctant halt. I allow myself a few sips of water as my heart rate lowers, and I scan the area, looking for any sign of what I should do next.

My mind drifts to my mentors and I search my brain, searching for any information they may have given me that might inspire a plan; as before, thinking of them calms me somewhat. I know Benton would laugh at me if he knew the rage that had been building in my head. Not only do I have the bag, my weapons, but I managed to eat well today, and I've trekked half my planned route without disturbance. I can't help but acknowledge this is true as I imagine his teasing grin in my head. '_You're doing great, kiddo'._

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to think clearly as I stash the bottle away. The only source of water I've seen so far is the lake, and whilst I'm heading towards it, I know that the only thing in front of it is a sparse stretch of land that holds the Cornucopia- and likely the tributes. If I think sensibly, then, the best thing to do would be to branch of to the right, move round behind the cliff to where it is most likely that the lake could pool off. With no other options, and Peyton's voice in my head telling me to keep moving, no matter what, I pick up my stuff and carry on.

My frustrations continue to linger, but only slightly, and they fade completely by noon as the earth softens and I can sense a dampness in the air that tells me my instincts were correct; I'm nearing water. My earlier enthusiasm returns tenfold as I pick up the pace, and within minutes I discover a large pool. My heart pounds in delight as I race over, dropping the axe and spear to my side as I fall to my knees and scoop up mouthful after mouthful of the crystal clear, ice cold liquid. I don't stop until my belly is aching and then I sit back on my knees, gasping at the glorious pain of the cold water settling in my stomach. I allow myself a moment to sit and revel in my good fortune, pleased that my decision paid off, and am just leaning forward to scoop up a few more handfuls when I see something that makes my blood run cold, makes every muscle in my body clench in pure terror. Reflected in the water, blurry but unmistakable, is the figure of a person approaching me from behind.

My brain immediately shifts out of focus as my body takes over and I reach for my axe and turn, swinging blindly. There's a cry as the figure falls backwards, but she's on her feet in a second; it's Asha, the determined looking girl from District 12. She looks weary and shaken, but the determination isn't gone as she lunges towards me. I jump out the way and swipe for her, but she rolls to the side, reaching out as she does. I realise she's reaching for my spear and a hostile protectiveness overtakes me as I leap for her, kicking my spear aside as I bring my axe down, hard. She cries out as it makes contact with her shoulder, and I hear a splash behind me; it must be my spear landing in the pool but I ignore it, pulse racing, blood pounding in my head as I focus on the threat in front of me.

She crawls backwards and then flips onto her knees, fumbling with her pockets as I race after her, taking the chance to swing with my axe again and slicing her across the back. She falls forward and then rolls onto her back, leaping up and lunging at me before I have the chance to think. She's swinging a knife, nowhere near as big as the weapons I'm holding but enough to make me move out of her way, swinging around again as I bring the axe up over my head. She ducks at the last second, avoiding what should have been a fatal blow as my axe instead hammers into a tree. By the time I dislodge it she is close enough to do damage, and pain seers through me as she slashes at my arm. I swing my weapon back and manage to hit her in the side; she slams the knife hard into my shoulder before she reacts to my hit, stumbling to the floor. I wince, pulling the knife out, and it's only when I do that my eyes focus in on the blade. It's coated in my blood, of course, but other than that it's smeared in a thick purple gunk. I stare at it in surprise, my mind racing as I try and figure out what it is, and then my gaze falls on her hand. It's stained purpled and she's clutching a handful of berries, crushed from where she has smeared them onto the knife. My stomach takes a dive as I immediately recognize them from the edible plants stand in the Capitol; Nightlock. I immediately begin breathing hard, panic racing through me as the realisation sinks in. She's poisoned me.

I fling her knife away and swing the axe down, making contact with her calf. She screams and scrambles backwards, and I chase her, terror making me brave and crazed, and as she staggers to her feet I bring the axe down and around, slicing her neatly on the side of the neck. She makes a strange gurgling sound and stumbles back, her legs kicking into gear as she turns and races away from me into the cover of the trees. I briefly consider chasing her but I'm unable to summon the energy, unable to focus on anything other than myself. From what I remember, Nightlock is 100% deadly, and already my eyes are hazy and I feel dizzy and out of focus. I know that ingesting it is fatal, but what if it gets in my bloodstream? I forget everything but the instinct to survive as I turn and run, stumbling, back to the pool. It's too far away for comfort; by the time I arrive I'm almost crawling, but I surge forward and land in the water, my fear forgotten as I think of nothing but the immediate threat to my life. I pull off my shirt, exposing the wounds. My arm wound seems shallow, but the cut to my shoulder is at least 2 inches deep. I wince in agony as I plunge my fingers into it, screaming silently as I pull the wound open, flushing it with water and willing it to wash the deadly Nightlock away. My arm is screaming in pain, but I'm too panicked to care, too dizzy with the effects of the poison, and as my pulse races in my head despite my bravado all I can think is- _I can't be dead. This can't be it. _I feel a surge of bile race into my throat as another wave of nausea hits me and I start to feel light headed. I don't know if it's with panic or the poison; either way I'm too exposed to lose consciousness, and somewhere in the recess of my mind I manage to register this.

I force myself to turn, cursing as the world spins slowly, sickeningly after me, and I half swim, half drag myself across the pool to the rocks surrounding it. They are thickly layered, but there's a crevice, and I force myself into it, wincing as the water rises up around me in the tight space. Once I'm behind I collapse back into the tiny, sheltered cavern. It's barely big enough for just me, and I push backwards as far from the entrance as possible until I feel the bag strapped to my bag bump into the rocks on the wall. My brain feels thick and heavy, my breathing too loud, and I've barely had time to shift myself onto the relative safety of a submerged rock before the poison takes over and I black out.


	26. Chapter 26

I've never known where my fear of water came from. I suppose the most logical thing is to assign it as a fear of the unknown, but that doesn't really make sense; I've always forced myself into it when training, even if it wasn't for long, and as a result it is as familiar to me as most other things in the woods.

Perhaps it could be that nobody taught me about it, but that doesn't make sense either as I taught myself everything I know. My mediocre swimming skills came from pictures in the primitive school library and observing the strokes of the frogs to whom it came naturally, the same as every swing of a knife or throw of a spear came from observing and teaching myself, and these things became natural to me almost as soon as I could turn my hand to them. It can't be a fear of not having my feet on the ground, as I was so at ease straight away with the trees, the rocks, climbing and leaping; lack of solid earth has never bothered me.

Maybe it's because I've never been able to categorize it. In life there are things that are safe and things that are dangerous, things to keep close and things to avoid, things to trust and things to fear. Water is both of these things. It's nature's cruel joke- necessary for survival but deadly in excess. There's nothing else on earth that you can rely on and fear in such equal measure, and since I live to be certain about everything perhaps this uncertainty has automatically made me edgy. The truth is that I will never be able to explain it- without any reason, without even trying, water just makes me feel uneasy. It's the way it moves, the feeling of being submerged, and I feel that familiar uneasiness now as water creeps over my hands, lapping gently at my fingers.

I wince in distaste, tugging my hand up away from the offending water even as another emotion sneaks in. It's one I can't place and I grimace, trying to grasp at comprehension, ignoring the surge of horror I feel as my movements cause the water to leap up around my whole body. This emotion feels like joy. Relief, even, which makes no sense. These are not emotions I should be feeling while I'm surrounded by water, and I shake my head, bringing my shaking, wet hand up to my face as I blink slowly. My brain feels sluggish and heavy, like it's soaked in treacle, and digging through the recess of my memories I struggle to place where I am, and why. My eyes slowly focus on my surroundings, on the shaft of light snaking in through the crevice, and suddenly, just like the light, memories cut through my sluggish brain and I recall the events from earlier; the knife, Asha, the pool. Everything rushes back, and immediately this irrational emotion makes perfect sense- somewhere in my subconscious was relief that I had woken up, that I wasn't dead. Now that my awareness has returned this relief rushes over me like a tidal wave and I let out a long, shaky breath. I'm still here. Still alive. For now at least, I'm still in the game.

My delight at regaining consciousness is quickly derailed as I turn my head and my surroundings spin, a hundred times worse than before. I clutch my head in my hands, heart thumping as the cave continues to turn around me, and uncontrollable nausea wells up. I may have regained consciousness, but it seems the Nightlock is still doing its job, and as the feeling of wanting to vomit becomes uncontrollable I feel my eyelids flicker and realise I'm about to pass out again. As nausea overwhelms me and my mind slips back into blackness I'm certain I'm going to die, and only one thought enters my mind; at least it's day two. _I may be dying_, I think bitterly, _but at least I beat Dex by a day._

I'm jerked awake, painfully and suddenly, by the blare of the trumpets echoing through the silence. Can it really be so late already? The dizziness has not abated and I'm shivering, submergence in the water taking its toll, but an overriding urge to see who is left takes me over and I'm able to summon enough sense in my head to focus on this. I cling to the cavern walls, tugging myself along quickly until I can see the sky through the crevice. The sudden movement has made my world spin, but I can just make out the Panem logo, my poisoned eyes causing it to spin frantically in the sky. It hovers softly as the anthem plays and then just as suddenly drops, leaving the sky dark and silent as before. I'm taken aback as I ease myself back into my position of safety. No deaths. More importantly, no Asha.

I lay back against the cold stone as my mind struggles to take this in. I had comforted myself by remembering that, despite my current predicament, at least another tribute had been taken out of the running, but it seems it wasn't the case. I can't see how she's survived- she may have been fast, but I got a good few swipes at her with my axe, and the one to her neck at least should have been deadly. She seemed under equipped, with only her knife that I could see, and if she's managed to heal herself using only her wits and the elements then she must be extremely talented with natural medicines. This isn't a surprise; she clearly knew exactly what she was doing with the Nightlock, and despite myself I can't help but marvel. I was at a far greater advantage than her, but she managed to escape with her life, and by using the Nightlock she turned her knife into a far deadlier weapon than it should have been. She's smart, I admit to myself grudgingly. Very smart. And if she's good with herbs, then she's got a better chance at survival than most of us. I can't remember what score she was awarded, but whatever it was wasn't high enough- even if she is not a talented killer, survival is half the game, and her talents at healing make her a very valuable player indeed. My own score only reflects my ability with weapons, nothing else- not bravery, as I proved from running from the Cornucopia, nor any talent beyond killing, as if I were to be wounded I would be as good as dead, with no clue how to go about healing myself. The only reason I've managed to survive my poisoning so far is luck, quick thinking and the proximity of the pool. Where it not for this, I would be out of the game already.

It's a sobering thought, one that forces me to re-evaluate my own position among the tributes, reassess my assumption at superiority. If the events of the last few days have taught me anything, it's that I'm not as good as I thought I was- that it doesn't matter how much you train, nothing can truly prepare you for the games. It also means that this really is a game anyone can win, and with all certainties out the window I feel even less secure than I did before. I find myself reconsidering the other tributes, trying to figure out what secret talents they may hide, wishing I hadn't been so quick to write them off; but of course, I had never written Asha off. Right from the start I had pegged her as strong, a potential threat, and looking at my situation now it's almost funny how right I was about that. I may have outranked her in almost every way, but she's left me defenceless and debilitated without me even taking her life in return. My only comfort is that she must be as surprised as I am not to see my face up there, given that she poisoned me, and I can't help a small smile crossing my face at the idea.

The pleasure is short lived, as turning to remove some of the wild bird meat from my bag is enough to send my head spinning violently once more, and it's clear that though the poison has not proved fatal its effects are as alive and debilitating as ever. I force myself to eat through my nausea, and then fall into a restless, damp and freezing cold sleep, praying that the night will ease the traces of Nightlock from my system, and that the morning will bring with it a clear head.

I must sleep for hours, as the day is in full force by the time I blink into consciousness, the sun-warmed water less icy than before. A quick turn of the head tells me that though my dizziness has abated somewhat, it is still very much present, and since I'll be no good for anything other than resting I'm resigned to another day in this hateful little cavern. Now that I'm more conscious, my fear and sickness has given away to annoyance, restlessness and a nagging feeling that the Gamemakers won't let me stay here forever. There must be a something of interest going on elsewhere, otherwise they would have probably found some way of forcing me out of here- even I can imagine that watching me dizzily stumble around the arena, drawing attention to myself and defenceless to anyone who might come across me, would be good television. As it is, every second I can steal in this cave to allow my body to recover is a blessing, and whilst I may be grateful, that doesn't mean I have to like it.

I feel a surge of resentment towards Asha for putting me in this predicament, quickly followed by a grudging respect for her resourcefulness. Her plant knowledge has likely left me in a far worse state than she is, and as much as I hate the idea that I have come out of our scrap worse than her it seems to be true; she has left me trapped in a water filled cavern, unable to trust my own senses. Still, I seem to be recovering, and I tell myself that when I am back in the arena I will attempt to match her level of cunning, that I will start planning ahead and not simply wait for things to react to. Of course, hidden here in the dark, it's easy to say; who knows if my good intentions will carry on into the open.

I spend the remainder of the day drifting in and out of consciousness, my ears alert for any noise every time I come around, but there's never anything but silence. My head seems to be recovering quickly as these silent stretches of awareness are becoming longer and longer, leaving me with nothing to do, nothing to focus on but my own thoughts.

I find myself thinking about Caleb, wondering how he's doing, _what_ he's doing. He's still alive, and that's all I know; I wonder if he's faring better than me. _At least I have the chance to recover_, I tell myself, channelling Benton's positive thoughts as I retrieve some more food from my bag and eat slowly. It's enough to lift my spirits, but only temporarily; the movement has made me dizzy, and I close my eyes as once again all thoughts slip from my poisoned mind.

The next time I come around the sky is dusky, meaning that the projection in the sky must be imminent. I'm determined to keep myself awake for it, determined not to miss one, and as a result I decide to inspect the surface wounds that Asha inflicted on me. Due to their constant saturation in water they still look fresh, but thankfully the wounds aren't deep- as I suspected she isn't much with the knife, and I could have written these off as a scratch were it not for the Nightlock. Once again I'm struck by the fact that, though I should have vastly outmatched her, she was able to disable me in manners I would not have thought of. Even though our talents lie in different areas, it seems we are almost equally matched- strong in areas the other is not. In fact, if we weren't trying to kill each other we might have made good allies. I'm hit by a vision of her and me and, yes, Caleb, and I can't help but acknowledge that an alliance would have likely left me in a more preferable situation than the one in which I currently find myself. But there's no point thinking about that; Asha was never a person I had the chance to form an alliance with, and either way, the one alliance I did get offered I rejected. I don't regret that, as I know I wouldn't have wanted an alliance with them anyway- the only person I would really have considered was Caleb. This thought takes me by surprise, as I had always thought that I had never seriously considered it, but with nothing to do but sit in the dark with my own thoughts it seems more truth has come out than even I was aware. I'm not sure I like his idea- it feels like my brain could be plotting against me, discovering things and keeping me from knowing them, giving me the unsettling feeling that, out here, I can't even trust myself. I push this disturbing thought aside, deciding to use my miniscule medical pack to fix my injuries.

As I sit up, I'm pleased to see that the dizziness has almost gone, which means that it is likely I will be on my feet by tomorrow. With this in mind, as I dress my wounds I begin scratching out some semblance of a plan in my head. My brain is glad of the distraction, and I am soon so engrossed in both tasks that the anthem I had been waiting for takes me by surprise.

Yet another day has passed with no deaths. Even through my relief that Caleb is OK, I can't help but feel a little irritated that there won't be less tributes on the field when I return. It makes this time trapped in here recovering even more useless, like nothing has even changed while I've been disabled. It's like the entire game has been out on pause and they've been waiting for me. _Not for much longer_, I promise myself as I fish my shirt from where it is floating beside me, ringing the water out and laying it out to dry on the rocks above me. _Tomorrow, this player is back in the game_.


	27. Chapter 27

When I awake the next morning the first thing I feel, as always, is a shiver of revulsion at the water lapping at me. The usual rush of nausea that follows, however, is absent, and my eyes immediately flick open, suddenly wide awake at this realisation. I sit upright and turn my head, waiting for the room to spin, and feel a rush of relief when it doesn't. It's such an awful feeling, having your own body turn on you, and I swear I will never again underestimate the luxury of being able to rely on my head.

The water feels warmer than yesterday, and though it still feels early the sun is high and warm enough to tell me it must be midday. I would have preferred an early start, but any start is better than the last few days and I find I'm raring to go. I eat a quick breakfast and pull on my shirt before squeezing my way out of the rocks. As daylight hits me my eyes wince against the sudden brightness, but the rest of me basks in the feeling of being back outside, the sun on my skin already warming my frozen body.

I stand still for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust as I scan my surroundings, cautiously checking for any sign of life. After a moment I relax and begin trudging slowly through the pool, feeling for any signs of my weapons with my feet. Though my memories are unreliable, my weapons are important enough that I clung on to the memory of them falling into the safety of the pool, and I don't want to leave without them. I move slowly, feeling my way tentatively, stopping to grasp at anything heavy that blocks my path and brushing aside the frustration at finding another rock.

A few sweeps later I discover my spear, and elatedly tug it up from the pool floor. Unsurprisingly Capitol weapons are well made, and it has fared better than me on its days of submergence. Just holding it in my hand gives me an immediate surge of reassurance, of strength, and I vow never to lose it again. Clutching it tightly, I continue my search for my axe with a renewed vigour. Thinking back, I am able to recall dropping it just as I hit the water, and I make my way back towards the cavern to check around it. I'm about to give up when I spot it, glinting low in the water under the ridge of the bank, and my heart leaps in joy. To have my precious weapons returned to me is more than I could have hoped for, and I feel a surge of enthusiasm rush through me as I duck under the bank, fishing in the mud for the handle of my axe. I've just closed my hand around it when I hear a noise that makes me freeze in my tracks; footsteps.

My first ridiculous thought is that it is Asha, come to finish me off, but there are more than one set- this is a group, and they're moving fast, running through the woods maybe 30 yards away. My pulse is in my throat as I try and figure out what to do. Fortune has me crouched under this ridge, which isn't visible from far away, but if they come to the pool to fill up on water, which seems likely, they'll see me straight away.

My hand tightens around my spear, but instead of fear I feel determination and a kind of acceptance. Against a group there's no way I can win, but with my weapons in my hand at least I'll go down fighting. I hear the footsteps get closer and a feeling of calmness washes over me. This is how I should have felt at the Cornucopia- ready to fight, and not afraid to die. It's what I'm here for, after all, and whilst I would have liked to have lasted I'm just glad I'm ready this time.

The steps are almost achingly close now, and as my fingers grip my axe all I can hear is my heart beating in my brain, booming over and over like the cannon that will soon announce my death. My body is poised to spring and my arms are holding my weapons with familiarity and focus, ready to move at any second. I'm primed, like an animal ready to attack- so ready in fact that it takes me a moment to realise that the footsteps are carrying on, moving away from me. They haven't stopped. They're leaving. And I'm still here.

I'm so shocked it takes a minute to process it. I was so ready to attack, so sure I was that these moments were to be my last. I listen intently as the footsteps carry on, my ears straining as they become so faint that I'm struggling to hear them. It's only when they vanish entirely that I dare let out the breath I had been holding, my entire body sagging with relief. Now that they've passed by, that the danger is gone, the fear I should have been feeling catches up with me and I finally move, backing as far under the ridge as I possibly can, my weapons ready before me. They won't come back, I'm sure of it- the pool would be their only reason to do so and they passed it without hesitation, but from the speed of the footsteps I can't be sure if they were running towards or away from something, and I don't want to risk anyone else coming along. So I wait, frozen, up to my chin in the water with my back pressed against the slimy walls of the pool, my fingers shaking as they keep an icy grasp on my weapons, ready to defend my life at a moment's notice; and yet, not as ready as I was a moment ago. I recall the strange focus that came over me with a kind of intrigued observance, almost as if it was someone else, and I'm not sure if I'm comforted or alarmed by how ready I was to fight to the death. Awareness that the end was coming seemed to remove all trace of fear, fear that has overtaken me now as I crouch, trembling and soaked to the skin.

After a while I'm able to relax a little, as there are no signs that anyone else is coming, no signs of life at all. It must have been the careers, as their assumed base and proximity to water would give them no cause to stop for it, and I'm more grateful than ever that I wasn't forced to confront them. Despite my certainty that the coast is clear, contemplating on how close I was to Onyx, to him carrying out his threat, encourages me to stay put a little longer, and as a result it's at least an hour before I feel safe enough to move. By this point I'm desperate to leave this pool, where I have spent the vast majority of my time in the arena. The memory of my time trekking through the forest seems so long ago, and yet as I heave myself out of the water and my feet take their first steps onto dry land in days I immediately shift back into that mind-set, so eager am I to carry on forward, to make up for the time lost by my collision with Asha.

I focus back on the plan I had formed and carry on East, treading lightly after my close proximity to the careers, heading as quickly as I can for the cliffs and my intended base. After all that time in the waterlogged cave I find I'm craving more than ever the safety and security I relate to being up high, and as the cliffs get closer I find myself moving faster, my eagerness to reach my destination overcoming any lesser impulse to move more cautiously. When they eventually loom over me, the late afternoon sun casting a shadow over me as it falls behind them, I find I am so relieved that I am running almost full pelt towards them, only allowing my feet to fall to a standstill as I close in on the cliff. I stare up as it towers high above me; as I suspected, this side is far more rocky and cavernous than the other, far easier to climb, and I can immediately see several routes that will put me at least two dozen metres in the air in under ten minutes. I feel satisfaction settling in my chest as my plan comes to fruition, and after allowing myself a few moments to regain my breath I zip my axe into my bag, attach the spear to my belt and begin to climb.

It's tough work, more vertical than I'm used to, but there are plenty of foot holds and though I am breathless I don't run into trouble. The higher I get, the more aware I am of how exposed I have become, and I can't help but cast several glances over my shoulder, watching my back- a lesson I learned the hard way after my confrontation with Asha. Despite my newfound caution, it seems I was correct in my assumption that this part of the arena would be relatively clear, and whilst this height may expose me it also confirms that, for now at least, I am totally alone.

After climbing a little longer I reach a slight incline which veers off into a handful of crevices, and on inspection I spot a particularly wide one that looks large enough to contain me. It takes a moment to squeeze through, but my patience is rewarded as it opens out to a small, concealed cave that is safe, enclosed and- most importantly- dry.

I collapse backwards on the cave floor, breathing heavily as I wait for my pulse to slow and allowing myself to beam as I revel in the successful execution of my plan. Up here, warm and dry in the mountains with nobody to know where I am, being trapped in the pool at death's door suddenly seems so long ago; like a dream that didn't happen. This could easily be the case, as I feel totally improved- the exertion of the day, far from worsening my state, has made me feel as good as I could possibly hope to feel, and I put this down to adrenaline combined with the high of finally achieving my plan. For the first time since I arrived in the arena, I feel like I may actually be on safe ground, like I may stand a chance, and it's a feeling I'm relishing.

I allow myself to sit and wallow in this sensation, a brief indulgence after days of being trapped and helpless. For the first time, I realise, I feel like myself again. It's a comforting thought, one that gives me more strength than the meagre food and water supply I allow myself as I crouch in the doorway, watching the sun set. It's hard to believe I've already been in the arena for four days; it feels like no time at all has passed, and once again I find myself contemplating on the fate of the other tributes. The nightly announcements from the last 2 days have shown me that other than the opening battle, which always results in bloodshed, there have been no deaths, and as the anthem sounds the logo hovers shakily in the sky and then vanishes, telling me that today is no different. This is peculiar- so early in the games, people should be seeking each other out, still reasonably well stocked and eager to take out a few players before hunger and lethargy kick in. So why the lack of deaths? Perhaps there have been plenty of non-fatal collisions, near misses like mine and Asha's, that have kept people interested. I hope so, as lack of death is never popular with the audience; if this continues for much longer then the Gamemakers may take it upon themselves to stir things up a little, and an intervention from the Gamemakers is never welcome. It's an unsettling thought, and combined with the rapidly cooling night air it makes me shiver, so I retire to the very back of my cave.

Once again I'm enclosed in a dark cavern for the night, but this time I'm tucked up warm in my sleeping bag and well fed, and my eyelids are already drooping, looking forward to my first restful night's sleep in ages. As I drift off, I allow myself a briefly indulgent moment to think of Caleb. He's still alive at least, and I don't know what he's doing but I hope he's as safe as I am, that he's not the thing that is keeping the audience entertained enough that the Gamemakers are leaving me in relative peace. As much as I am glad of these snatched moments to restore myself, to prepare me for my first offensive launch into the arena tomorrow, I would hate to think that they were at his expense, and this thought, however unlikely, troubles me right up into the moment I finally fall asleep.


	28. Chapter 28

It's the perfect example of just how obscure an experience the games are that my first thoughts upon waking are how glad I am not to be floating in a pool, soaked to the skin, and that my second are to contemplate if I will successfully manage to kill anyone today. I'll have to kill something at least, as my breakfast finishes off the last of my wild bird, and though I'm still left with most of the food I started with I'm reluctant to use it up unless I'm starving- something that, despite my relative success so far, could quickly and easily become a reality in here.

After taking a moment to dress my wounds, which seem clean enough but are drying fast, leaving my skin tight and sore, I arm myself and strap my belongings onto my back. I contemplate leaving them for a moment, as this cave has quickly become homely enough to me that it feels safe to leave my things here, but I don't want to leave anything to chance, don't want to risk losing my precious belongings; potentially my only chance at survival.

It's barely past dawn when I venture out, and a quick scan tells me that, once again, I'm alone as far as the eye can see. Despite this, I'm more cautious than ever as I scale down the cliff face- I have no plans to fall victim to another debilitating run-in with a tribute like before, not now that I finally feel ready to do some damage, prove myself worthy of playing the game.

I choose to head North, up around the cliff, which by my calculations should take me out around the other side of the lake, to the reverse of the Cornucopia where I imagine the careers are camped out. I have no ambitions to take them on, not today at least, but it makes sense that some of the other tributes may be there; in sight of water and with their enemies close enough to watch. Once again, having a plan spurs me on, and I move quickly and quietly thorough the undergrowth.

Now that I am hunting I have automatically taken on a more silent demeanour than the blind crashing through the woods that has defined my actions over the past few days, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks that, somehow, I survived it. Up until this point I have displayed barely any of my skills, and I am as aware as the audience must be that it is only luck keeping me alive. I don't envy Benton or Peyton their task at winning me sponsors, and it's little surprise I have won nothing so far. This thought spurs me on, and I redouble my efforts to hunt, more determined than ever to prove myself. Despite my distain for them, I find myself wanting to impress the audience, win their favour. At the very least, I want them to think I deserve to still be alive.

My thoughts drift back to the dead careers, and I wonder if the audience regrets their deaths, knowing that they are normally the source of the most excitement in the games; wonder if they wish that Leon and Orla were still in the arena, that I had died in their place. The thought angers me, and I feel a tingle not unlike the undercurrent of anguish that hit me in the gym at the thought that the careers may have outperformed me. This time they are doing it even in death.

I come to a sudden halt in the middle of a gathering of bushes, allowing myself to get my breath back as I clear these thoughts from my head. I can't afford to have an inferiority complex now- not now, right when I was finally ready to start playing. I don't normally get these types of feelings- in fact, my thoughts rarely extend beyond the next day, the next bout of training, and I wonder why it's not the same here. This time alone, the feeling of being trapped and not in control, has my brain thinking all sorts of things I'm not used to, things I don't know how to think, and on top of that I'm now doubting myself. Having an audience, it seems, is as good for me as it is bad- I am eager to impress and worried that I won't in equal measure. As it is, two things allow me to finally push these thoughts from my head and focus myself- a feeling of loyalty towards my mentors, struggling probably as we speak to convince wealthy Panem residents I am worth their money, and the sight of a snuffed out campfire.

My heart instantly quickens at the sight of this, evidence that life was here, that I am on the right track, and despite myself I can feel my hunter's instinct take over. On close inspection I can see it is cold, but it still tells me that I could be close, and from this point onwards all I can focus on is signs of life. I move slowly, quietly through the trees, my weapons always ready, my tread always silent, eyes everywhere as I am constantly on alert, constantly scanning for movement, for threats. More than once I curse my lack of tracking skills- it's something I was never able to teach myself, and as a result the only thing I can rely on is instinct and guesswork- estimations of likely directions my unknown enemies may have taken. This technique, it seems, is not effective, as midday comes and goes and I have still not seen a single further sign of life.

The next time I allow myself to stop for water it is mid-afternoon and my exhilaration at finding the fire has waned, leaving me with frustration and a build-up on tension that I am unable to release. I am constantly on edge, scanning my surroundings the entire time, and the fact that I have nothing to show for it is only making it worse. I have gone from alert to paranoid, which is hindering my hunting skills considerably. I can't help but feel disappointed that my best intentions have led to nothing, and I can't help but feel that so far, today has been as much use as my days spent half conscious in the pool.

My focus is fading along with my enthusiasm, and deciding I need another plan to clear my head I eventually stash my belongings and find a tree to climb. I scale it quickly and quietly, my fingers grateful for the work, and once I am as high as I can go without feeling exposed I scan the area. My new height is advantageous, but teaches me nothing other than that I am nearing the centre of the arena- the shimmering blue lake, though far away, is in my eye line, but there are no sign of the careers, no sign of life at all. The sun is high enough in the sky to make it late afternoon, and I grudgingly realise I will have to turn back soon if I am to make it back to my appointed base before sunset. The thought frustrates me, and I can feel a heavy sinking in my chest as I am forced to acknowledge that another day will pass with me proving myself to be nothing more than a faceless tribute, wounded and lost in the woods.

I dwell moodily on these thoughts a little longer, perched in my tree, and I am just contemplating finally giving up and heading back when a sudden movement catches my eye. I'm instantly alert, my body frozen and cursing being separated from my weapons, but it's not close- from this vantage point I can see flashes in the woods, a good 500 yards away at least. Running. People darting through the trees.

I fix my gaze on the movement. It's sporadic at best, and seems to be moving away from me, but even at this distance it's enough to make my heart beat faster. I can't see anything now, and I allow myself to climb slightly higher, shifting my neck to try and catch a glimpse. A sudden flock of birds makes me jump as they shoot into the sky from a patch of trees ahead, and this is immediately followed by a long, loud scream.

I freeze instinctively as the sound my body is trained to relate to terror sails though the air, piercing the silence with its promise of horror, of death. As if on cue, it is quickly followed by the boom of the cannon, causing more birds to fly up at the noise as it echoes over the landscape. Thinking fast, I grab this opportunity to drop quickly to the floor and, grasping my weapons, I immediately begin to move as speedily and silently I can in the opposite direction, back towards to the cave. Any animal movement I incur in this action will be credited to the cannon, and I do not want to stay put- not now, not with whoever caused that death relishing the thrill of the hunt, with freshly spilled blood on their hands and adrenaline in their veins.

This is not the place for me now, despite my intentions to cause a stir, and though I'm still alert as I quickly make my way back through the undergrowth, another feeling has crept in alongside the familiar energy I relate to hunting. It's fear, and I realise it comes from the unsettling feeling of having to be cautious. This is the one thing I never learned in all my training- how it feels to have to watch yourself, to be careful. In the woods in the District I was always top of the food chain, and with that knowledge came cockiness, a self-belief that the arena makes a mockery of. I acknowledge that today has not been at all similar to my days of hunting in the arena- I've been more cautious, slow, and above all, scared. An undercurrent of fear has affected my actions, made me less effective, less willing to take risks, and whilst this may have left me alive, it has also made me less interesting to watch.

Every cautious step I take reminds me of how foolish I was to believe that I would ever be adequately prepared to come in here. Nothing will ever prepare you for knowing that death could be around the corner, and witnessing it at such close hand has reminded me painfully of this- that however careful I may be, someone else could always be there, watching. This thought subdues me, and when I finally arrive back at my self-appointed base I feel more down than ever.

I tell myself that I am lucky to be alive, but this is a small consolation for such an unsatisfying day. I've achieved nothing; not even food, I suddenly realise as my stomach growls in protest. I don't even consider eating any of my provisions- it's my own fault I've nothing to eat, and I suppose I'm considering it as a kind of punishment. _You will eat when you've earned it_. As a result, it's with an empty stomach and a heavy heart that I settle myself back into the cave entrance waiting for the announcement. As the music cuts in, I feel my first flash of nerves- I hadn't given much thought to who it would be.

I let out a sigh of relief as the face of the girl from 6 flashes into the sky; it's not Caleb. I examine the face of the dead girl, wondering if I should feel something since I was so close to the scene of her death, but I feel nothing as her face vanishes into the black sky. There's no time to contemplate death for too long in here. The harsh truth is that I am glad she's dead, and for so many reasons- I'm glad there are now less tributes out there. I'm glad there's been a death to appease the audience, keep the Capitol off my back a little longer. I'm glad that her death may have kept me from being discovered out there in the arena today. I'm glad that it was her and not me. And I'm glad that it wasn't Caleb. I decide not to linger on what kind of person this makes me, instead choosing to focus on the good points of this disappointing day as I settle myself in for the night, hoping that tomorrow will be more eventful.

* * *

_Be careful what__ you wish for_. These are the words that flash through my brain the very second I awake, before I even have a chance to open my eyes, before I am aware of what's caused this overwhelming feeling of unsettlement that seeps through every pore of my body.

My heart is pounding before I know why, and I leave my eyes closed as I try to figure out why I've awoken with such an innate feeling of unease. It's not a dream that's caused it, I know that much- this is real, and for the next few seconds I want to stay in denial, don't want to know why my body is afraid. I hear the loud, chilling hiss just as I am ready to admit defeat, and my eyes snap open as I am forced into reality. My stomach immediately drops like a stone. Barely inches away, pulling itself into an unnatural coil, it's cold, evil gaze upon me, is a long, thick snake.

I've never seen one up close, only in books, and through they don't scare me more than any other creature there are a few things about this one that have caused me instant terror- its size, its proximity, and most importantly, the fact that this is the games. The Capitol is known for toying with animals, creating creatures far more deadly than nature intend, and whatever fear I feel for this creature it is nothing compared to my fear of its creator. The Frankenstein to this monster, the thing I know I should always fear above all things- the Capitol itself.

All these thoughts rush through my head in a split second as I remain motionless, my eyes fixed on this gruesome spectre, but it's seen me awaken. As I watch its head rear back I react on instinct, rolling to the right as it darts out, striking to my left. It explodes in an angry hiss as I reach out desperately for my axe, recoiling in horror as my hand makes contact with the thick, dry, muscular coil of its body. My mind struggles to process this, as I have been reaching behind me, not towards it, and as I scramble back against the wall I am forced to acknowledge the awful truth- there is more than one.

I scan frantically as I back up; I can see at least three, the third of which is emerging disgustingly from a crevice in the cave wall, and I have just enough time to register crumbling rock and dust falling with it as it drops heavily to the ground before I spot the second snake lunge. I roll away again, my hands reaching out in desperation to bat away the attack, and I hear another hiss as the first snake once more rears up. Panic explodes through me as I notice a flash out of the corner of my eye, and yet another slowly, grotesquely oozes its way through the cavern that was so briefly my sanctuary.

I abandon any thoughts of anything but fear, of escaping the proximity of these loathsome, angry animals, and I give in and cower forwards, fear overwhelming me as I wriggle towards the cave entrance on my stomach. My stomach clenches in fear as I feel the hard, jabbing contact as at least two of them strike me, and I silently thank heavens for my sleeping bag as I wince on impact, a cry catching in my throat as I force myself to keep silent.

Another one lashes out just to my left, and I almost forget to breathe as I feel one wrapping around my feet; I shake my legs in a frenzied panic, freeing them as I approach the exit. My heart leaps as one drops from the roof in front of my face, spitting as it lashes forward, and I cover my face, allowing myself to cry out in terror as I push on blindly, shoving its heavy, deathly coils aside as my hand shoots out to claw outside of the cave, desperately clasping at freedom.

I feel a stabbing pain as one strikes me on the arm, and I panic as I can feel what must be at least 2 wrapping their unnaturally strong bodies around my legs. I'm shaking furiously as I heave my shoulders through the gap, batting my arms around my head wildly as one jabs at me, shoving it aside and over the cliff. It shrieks out a loud, ugly hiss as it tumbles, spiralling inhumanely in the sky as it falls. I wince as I feel the deadly muscles tighten their grip around my legs, and then determination slices through the panic. I refuse to die here, in this tiny gap of nowhere. Not with freedom so close. Mustering up all my strength, I push on the walls of the cave, forcing myself forward even as I wriggle my lower body, and I thank the heavens once more for my sleeping bag as I wrench myself loose from it, leaving it in the deathly grasp of the monsters as I tumble gratefully into the light.

I don't stop to think, don't stop at all as I throw myself forward and run for the cliff edge, throwing myself over as my hands and feet quickly find crevices and I climb down as fast as I can. After a few seconds I allow myself to glance up; I nearly faint in panic at the sight of a thick, diamond head with wide, angry eyes easing its way over the cliff top after me, speeding up as it catches sight of me. My trembling hands speed up as much they can, but it's not enough as two of these monsters speed after me.

Terror brushes aside sensible thought as I unwisely drop the last few metres, scrambling to my feet even as I can see the long, black ropes sliding down the wall behind me. I begin to run. I give no thought to the noise I make as I crash through the undergrowth, no thought to anything other than the horrific sliding I can hear from my deadly pursuers, the sound of the dry rustling as their bodies' pursue me at unnatural speeds causing bile to rise in my throat. I can barely breathe, barely focus on my surroundings; all I can do is run, my feet pounding against the dry earth.

I feel a sharp stab on my ankle as one catches me and I stumble, gasping in panic and pain as I speed up, attempting to run faster than the flat out pace I am already at. My ankle is on fire, my foot objecting to the pain with every step, but I barely notice- this is nothing to the threat behind me, and all I can think about is pushing on, moving faster and faster, never looking back. A small part of my brain is aware that with every step I am moving further and further from my camp, my weapons stash, but I have pushed this worry aside in favour of the more immediate threat; the only thing I am capable of focusing on, the cause of my blinding panic and terror.

I don't know how long I run before I realise the rustling sound has ceased, that the only noise now is the sound of my lungs painfully gasping for breath, my own feet beating on the ground. I allow myself the briefest of glances over my shoulder to confirm that the horrifying creatures have ceased to chase me, but even then, though I am sure that they threat has gone, I still do not trust my feet to stop. I can't convince my brain I'm safe, and so I continue to run, my pace slowing only gradually as my brain slowly clicks into the fact that they've gone, I'm alone- I'm alive. Sweat is pouring off me as I stumble into a slow jog. I'm still unable to stop completely, but the overwhelming terror has passed, leaving me with nothing but relief and gratitude that the horrors of the dark, creature filled cavern have passed, that I am out in the open, that I survived.

So great, in fact, is my relief, my joy at the realisation that the immediate danger has passed, that I do not notice the careers until I am right on top of them.


	29. Chapter 29

My breath catches in my throat as the forest before me parts and I am met with a semi-circle of careers. My feet stop immediately, and I almost fall forwards with the sudden halt of speed, barely managing to maintain my balance as my eyes dart erratically around. My heartbeat is in my throat; I am filled with such blind panic, my emotions so confused from the rollercoaster of fear to relief and back again, that it takes me a moment to realise the thing I should have noticed straight away, the only reason I am still alive- that they have their backs to me.

I allow myself less than a second to adjust my head to this before retreating backwards as quietly as I can. I retrace my steps with the lightest, slowest footsteps I can bear until I reach a hollow of trees; I duck behind them at the speed of light, heart racing with relief as I take shelter in the thick undergrowth, finally out of sight. Once again I find I am thanking the heavens for my good fortune; it is only luck that they did not see me, and I curse my foolishness in blindly traipsing through the woods, giving no thought to the noise of my footsteps or what could be ahead. I should have stopped in my tracks the moment the threat passed, not indulged my sensibilities and kept on thoughtlessly running, an indulgence which has left me a stone's throw away from the boy who swore to kill me.

The only thing that stopped them from hearing me is the loud, hollering jeers they are making- they are giving no thought to attracting attention, to keeping quiet or hidden, and despite how close I am to death, despite my terrifying proximity to the biggest threat in the arena, when I realise their own self-importance has resulted in them missing a chance to kill me I can't help but smile. This smile quickly fades, however, when I glance though a break in the undergrowth and realise the object of their taunts. I have run further than I thought, and I am now barely a stone's throw from the centre, the Cornucopia just yards away. In front of me are a small group of deep pools that branch off from the lake, and it is only now, from this slightly higher viewpoint, that I can see exactly what has caused the tributes such mirth. They are standing around a pool, and at the centre of this pool is Nico.

My stomach turns unnaturally as I look at him. I don't know how or why he got in there, but since it is clear he can't swim this was a terrible mistake for him to make. He is spluttering and gasping as he struggles to stay afloat, and the careers are jeering at his attempts to stay alive.

"Look like you're having a little trouble there 7," announces Vita, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Maybe we should help him. We don't want him to die, do we?" Jaden enquires innocently, and they all break out into laughter again as Nico sinks below the surface, his arms scrambling to pull himself up again.

I feel sick just watching, but I can't turn away, can't do anything but watch the awful scene unfold. Where I armed I could take at least a few of them out, perhaps causing the others to flee or giving me a chance to fight them, maybe giving me a chance to save him, but my knives are in the bag on my bag- I can't retrieve them without attracting attention, and without my other weapons I am helpless to do anything but watch as he slowly drowns. My own fear of water makes this all the more agonising, and despite my lack of connection with Nico I can't help but feel an agonising pang of regret, a bolt of searing anger as I grit my teeth and curse the careers a hundred times in my head for allowing him to die in this horrifying way. They could at least kill him quickly, get it over with, but instead they are enjoying it, watching him desperately attempt to cling to his life as the water pulls him under. He gasps and coughs, choking something out, and Onyx leans forward, cupping his ear.

"What's that 7? Speak up?"

Nico's eyes are wild as he stares up at Onyx, and we all fall silent as he opens his mouth and gasps out his waterlogged dying words.

"Help me!"

I close my eyes, unable to believe his naivety, unable to bear the shame of his foolishness, and then clamp my hands over my ears as the sharp peals of laughter from the careers cut through my head like a blade. I fold my body forwards, squeezing my eyes closed and grasping at my ears as I attempt to block out the scene ahead. It was bad enough before his desperate attempt at survival, his foolish, desperate plea making his death even more undignified than it already was.

I run my mind though all the moments I had with Nico and can't help but acknowledge that every moment we spent together I despaired at his idiocy. His refusal to eat food, to train, to listen to our mentors. His deliberately obtained low score. His misguided plan for escape. And his last, foolish attempt to have the careers save his life. From the moment he stepped on the stage at the Reaping, Nico was destined to die, and he has died the way he lived- in a naïve, desperate struggle to survive.

Knowing this doesn't make it easier, doesn't mean he deserved this, and I can't help but think of his family back in the District, watching on the screen as their foolish, harmless son struggles into oblivion. The thought brings a hot tightness to my chest and I blink my eyes open slowly, telling myself that, no matter what else, Nico deserves to be seen, to have his last moments witnessed by someone who will not revel in it.

The careers are walking away in the opposite direction to me, clapping each other on the back and punching the air in celebration, and as I pull my hands from my ears I can hear the fading sounds of their self-congratulatory laughter as they crash off boldly towards the Cornucopia. As soon as they are out of sight I crawl from the undergrowth and stumble toward the lake, staring at Nico's lifeless body. It is risky, I know, to be out in the open in front of the careers, but the world is watching; they know I am there, and I can't bring myself to crouch shamefully as my District partner's corpse is tugged into oblivion.

I can't kid myself that it is simply the audience I am trying to please with this action- in a strange way, I am attempting to appease Nico himself, to ease my guilt at watching him die and doing nothing. He is floating, bobbing gently and horribly in the water, and I swallow, biting my lip as I stare down at him.

"I'm sorry Nico. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

I say it quietly, but I know everyone will hear it; everyone except the person I am saying it to. I stand there for a moment longer, staring down at this boy who I shared so little time with, knowing he died in the most agonizing way I can imagine, and feel guilty I didn't spend more time thinking of him. My mind has been on Caleb's wellbeing; I had barely stopped to consider Nico, and I can't help but feel like I'm being punished. Maybe the Capitol sent the snakes my way to send me in his direction. I wouldn't put it past them. It certainly worked out well for them- they got a death, and with a surprise witness. The audience must have loved it.

The thought makes me slightly sick, and I turn away, unable to look down at Nico any longer, crunching off into the trees and listening to the silent hum of the hovercraft behind me as it comes to collect him. I duck back into the undergrowth and lean onto a tree, closing my eyes as I listen to the sound of Nico finally achieving his ambition- escaping the arena.

I rest my head back against the wall of the trunk, waiting for the soft hum to let up, to tell me he's gone; that I'm the sole remaining tribute for District 7. Even after silence falls I stay there, eyes closed, processing the events of the morning. It's barely sun up and yet so much has happened. I think of the snakes, such a distant threat when compared with the careers, and this reminds me of the pain in my ankle. Now that the immediate threat has passed I feel it stinging and I open my eyes, tugging my trousers up to inspect the damage.

For a brief moment I panic- a snake bite could easily be the end of my time in the arena, but I'm lucky. My boots have protected me, and through the bite has torn through the leather it has left nothing but two deep, clean cuts on my skin. There are similar marks on my arm from where I was struck in the cavern, but though these are deeper they too are reasonably clean. There's no sign of poison- in fact, the worst thing this bite has done is re-open the cut Asha gave me, and as I run my thumb over my bloody skin I wonder why this is. I was so sure the Gamemakers would have sent this snake to poison me. I've seen poisonous creatures in the games before, taking tributes out in a matter of minutes, but these have left a mark comparable only to the work of another tribute. It makes me more certain than ever that these creatures were sent for the sole purpose of chasing me towards Nico, and I swallow a stab of resentment towards the Gamemakers for forcing me to witness his awful death.

I wipe the blood from my arm, doing the best I can to clear my skin, and then jump in fright as I hear a deep rumble. I almost laugh when I realise what it is- my stomach. I haven't eaten in a while. I contemplate my next move and then immediately feel insensitive, planning my next meal having only just watched Nico take his last breath. But this is a pointless thing to dwell on. I have to follow Peyton's advice, as always- accept it and forget it. Right now all my energy needs to be on getting some food, but I have no idea where to start.

I'm reluctant to backtrack in case my unwelcome wake up callers are still lurking, and if I head into the dense wood I will run into the careers. This thought causes another to strike into my head- the Cornucopia. I'm pretty certain that's near where the careers have made their base, and they were walking away from it. Which means it's unguarded, and likely fully stocked. Just contemplating it seems like madness, but then the rest of my time in the arena has been so reliant on luck that I'm suddenly convinced it was luck that brought me so close to the Cornucopia. I wouldn't have come here myself, that's for sure, and now that I'm here, early, with the careers out of the picture, I'm suddenly daring myself to head in that direction.

I slowly emerge from the undergrowth, heart pounding as I walk towards the centre of the arena, unable to believe I'm even considering it. It's like the death of Nico has made me brave, knowing that every eye in District 7 is now on me. Holding the hopes of Benton and Peyton in my hand has made me crazier than I've ever felt; I'm suddenly willing to take risks, throw caution to the wind. Despite this, I linger at the edge of the forest, surveying the area.

It feels foreign and strange, seeing the place I left only days ago, and I scan the field, rerunning with my eyes my previous frantic path as I left my podium and ran for the Cornucopia. I still recall so little of that, but looking at it now is bringing back flashes. The lightning fast reflex decision to grab my bag, the way my eyes immediately locked on my axe and spear, as if they were made for me.

My eyes scan over the Cornucopia now, and to my disappointment it is empty. The careers will have stripped it to the bone, which is no surprise, but they must have moved the contents somewhere close. So where? I lean forwards slightly and scan the clearing, searching for a likely place they will have made a base, but I can't see anything. A frown settles across my face as I can feel my plan slipping though my fingers- it's a feeling I don't relish, and desperate to cling to it I make a snap decision- to march right out there and search. _It's the last place they'll look_, I tell myself, but even as I begin to move I know it's madness to be so exposed, that anyone could be watching even if the careers aren't.

Just as I'm about to step out this thought catches me and I veer off to the right, keeping to the sparse group of trees that fringes the groups of pools that spread out into the lake. Its sporadic cover at best, but it's better than nothing, and it allows me enough clearance to move far enough that the entire lake comes into view. I have just reached the edge when two things happen- I spot the career's base, a bundle of tents arranged at the edge of the trees facing the lake, and I spot Jaden, emerging from the forest on the opposite side of the field beside the sand dunes.

My heart leaps in my chest as I duck behind the nearest tree, my pulse racing as I immediately curse my foolishness in coming out here. I'm a dozen yards from the camp at best and Jaden is heading my way, closing in fast. I have seconds to make a decision and as usual my body decides, my arms reaching for the branches of the nearest tree as I quickly pull myself up. I'm a good two thirds of the way up in seconds, and thankfully by the time he is close enough that I can hear his approach I am concealed in a leafy ark of branches, unable to see him- which hopefully means he is unable to see me.

I press myself against the wood, heart pounding as I hear him setting something down and then a rustle of movement. I don't try and look down, do nothing but remain utterly still and hope he doesn't spot me. I feel like an utter idiot, waltzing right into the careers camp, and I can only hope it's come across as bravery and not the single minded foolishness it truly was. All I can do now is hold on and hope that Jaden leaves so I can slink off into the forest with my tail between my legs. But he doesn't seem to be going anywhere; he's whistling to himself, and it sounds like he might be starting a fire.

I curse my bold stupidity over and over, my ears straining as the remainder of my senses remain useless. I've trapped myself, and I can do nothing but sit, waiting and frozen as I hear flames crackling, and then the sound of footsteps. I listen hopefully as he moves, and soon he's far enough away that I can risk climbing a little higher. A few metres later I catch sight of him through the tree tops, and as I do I realise with a jolt where the careers are keeping the Cornucopia stash. Though it makes my stomach turn in fear I can't help but marvel at their skill.

The towering pile of treasures is piled on a makeshift raft which is tethered in the centre of the lake, floating in front of the steep cliff face. It's impossible to reach on all sides- impossible, of course, unless you can swim, a skill traditionally held only by the citizens of District 4. As if on cue, Jaden dives into the water, and a few minutes of long, strong, lightning fast strokes later he is climbing the platform and weeding through the bags. It's masterful, I have to admit, and immediately puts any thoughts of robbing the careers out of my head. They've made it so that the only person in this arena who can reach the supplies is one of them, and in doing so have made it unnecessary to guard their camp, leaving them free to spend all their time hunting. Unfortunately for me, I seem to have found myself in the arena with the smartest career pack in years.

The day passes slowly, and as I suspect I'm going nowhere. The careers all return and leave at different times, and I'm forced to spend the day perfectly still, high in the trees above my enemies, watching the sun move through the sky and stealing my time along with it. I'm not sure what the 'usual' experience in the arena is, but I can't help but think mine isn't it- I've spent a lot of time being forced into hiding, time I had always imagined would be spent out hunting, taking out players and winning admirers and sponsors. The reality has been vastly different, and by the time night falls and Nico's face is projected at me in the sky I almost wish I could join him.

There's no other deaths today, a fact which seems to spur the careers on as I hear a general murmur of dissent. This is followed by footsteps; for a brief moment my heart lifts at the thought I may be able to escape, but female voices tell me the boys are making this their mission, that there's no way I'm leaving this tree tonight.

I'm still finding it hard to comprehend that only this morning I was waking in my cavern, and now I'm suspended in a tree over the careers camp. I would laugh, if it were in the slightest way funny. As it is, I'm scared to death, and once again forced to acknowledge that I've managed to achieve nothing today. For the second day in a row I've gone without food, and it's taking its toll, hunger biting at my insides as I struggle to remain awake; too scared to sleep but too tired not to. I don't want to move and retrieve my rope from my bag for fear of making noise, which means I can't tie myself to the tree, and as a result I can't risk falling asleep and losing my balance. What a way to end the day- unable to eat, unable to leave and now unable to sleep.

To top it all, I've discovered the only way to access the supplies is though that which I fear the most of all things in the arena- water. It's like some sort of cruel irony, and this combined with my perfectly timed collision with Nico, with his own waterlogged fate, has me more convinced than ever that there is nothing the Capitol can't control. This thought causes a bolt of panic to run through me as I see my situation from their eyes- hidden away and defenceless above the tribute camp. It seems likely that the Gamemakers will engineer some sort of way for me to be discovered, as surely the audience must be on the edge of their seats, knowing I am so close to the careers, so close to death? The thought has me cursing my stupidity once again. This time yesterday I was praying for some action, to make myself noticed, and in doing so I have surely signed my death warrant. As much as I would like to think otherwise, it seems these last few hours may be all I have, and if I were braver I would make a run for it, or at least try and fight them. But just the idea is enough to send fear fizzing down my spine, and all I can do is sit and wait it out; pray that this night will not seem as long as I fear it will be and that the Gamemakers will leave me be.


	30. Chapter 30

I awake with a jolt of panic as a loud shout cuts through my brain. Fear clenches through my body as I slide sideways, my stomach dipping at the sensation of falling as I claw out desperately, my fingers grasping for an anchor. I just mange to catch myself, and my heart is pounding as I stare wildly around, trying to regain my bearings. My breath comes out fast and hard as I try and comprehend where I am, and it's only when I hear another shout from below me that I remember, that it all comes flooding back. The careers camp, the lake, the tree. My broken promise to myself that I wouldn't fall asleep. My fear that the Gamemakers would engineer some sort of collision between us. The loud, excited shouts from the careers that tell me this has happened.

I cling desperately to the branch, telling myself I should dig out my knives, but the angle at which I have caught myself is so precarious that I can do nothing but hold on to stop myself slipping. My pulse is in my throat as I press my face into the cold, scratchy bark, fear flowing through my bloodstream until I finally manage to clear my addled brain to focus in on the voices. It is then that I realise they are moving away from me.

I furrow my brow in confusion, struggling to hear their voices even as their racing footsteps carry them away from me, and I am able to make out just enough to realise that I am not the cause of their noise- that they have seen something in the distance to summon up enough excitement that it has caused them all to run. I still don't dare to move, so I can't see what this thing is, but as I cling shakily to my branch I thank it over and over in my head. By the time my heart rate has slowed I can't hear them at all, and I allow myself to shift and peer down through the branches. The camp is totally deserted.

My heart starts to pound again, but not from fear- from joy. I'm alive. And this is my only chance to stay that way. Instinct takes over as I snap into action, my aching arms clinging to the bark as I sail down the tree as fast as possible. I drop the last few metres and land heavily, my feet protesting at the heavy contact after having spent the last day airborne, but I ignore them and stumble towards the tents, my eyes sweeping the area even as I keep watch for careers. They've left everything pretty haphazard, but I can still tell at a quick glance they've left nothing deadly. I glance towards the lake and instantly disregard it as just the idea has my body screaming in protest. One more quick glance finds me an open but nearly full pack of cheese crackers and half a loaf of bread which I sling into my bag, determined to take something, to not resign my night in the tree to the depths of uselessness quite yet.

Casting a quick glance in the direction of the careers I squint into the horizon, trying to spot what caused them such excitement, but see nothing. I choose not to dwell in it and instead turn and run as fast as I can back through the trees, relishing every step that takes me away from the careers and my self-inflicted prison. My limbs are stiff and my joints are aching, no doubt from clinging to the tree even as my mind faltered on the edge of sleep, and as a result my steps are jagged, awkward, my muscles trying to adjust themselves to the sudden movement. But I'm alive. Once again, against the odds, I have survived.

The audience must have found the idea of a tribute hidden so close to the self-satisfied careers amusing enough that I have been allowed to survive, that is the only explanation. Whatever it is that caused the careers to run, I wonder now if it was engineered by the Capitol, if they were giving me a change to escape. If the audience likes me. It's highly unlikely, given that the audience prizes bloody battles over any tribute, but I still can't help but feel that my escape was due at least in part to the audience- hidden so close to the careers like that, I should not have survived the night, and I have no doubt that if the audience had been baying for my blood then the Gamemakers would have made it happen. But they did not. Despite my foolishness in getting trapped there, I have been granted survival, and as I run I swear not to get caught like that again.

My feet relish every step I am able to take, and so I keep running, faster and further and for as long as I can bear. I finally allow my pace to slow as I enter the thicker part of the woods, as far from the careers as I can get, and I scan the area two, three times before I sink to my knees and tear into the bread with my teeth. I'm immediately aware of how ravenous I am, and within moments I've choked down all of it. I swig the remainder of my water bottle, making a mental note to fill it up, and then sit back and give myself a few moments to recover. After my time spent in the tree I'm itching more than ever to throw myself into the games, do something useful, but I don't recognise this part of the woods at all, and being on unfamiliar ground is unsettling me. This combined with the fact that I have lost my weapons makes up my mind for me, and I regretfully haul myself to my feet, resign myself to another recovery day and set pace in the direction of the cliff.

Despite what happened there, despite my entrapment at the hands of the snakes, I can't help but want to return, even if just for a moment, to recall to mind at least a moment where I felt secure in here. And then of course there's my weapons. My hands clutch instinctively for them at the thought, but are rewarded with nothing but my own clenched fists. Those weapons were my key to feeling like I could do something in here, and being without them is causing me more anguish than I can bear. Now that I'm safe I feel like I should have been able to grab them, that I could have moved fast enough despite the precariousness of my situation, but I know hindsight is lying to me. I escaped with my life due to nothing more than dumb luck and acting as fast as I did, and despite my distress at losing my weapons I know for sure that if I'd delayed for them my cannon would have fired by now. This thought, though mildly comforting, does nothing to ease the ache of separation, and I up my pace, scanning the area constantly for signs of danger as I head back towards the cliff.

I slow a little as I come across broken undergrowth, cracked sticks, and I realise I am retracing my steps from my desperate run to safety yesterday morning. As unsettling as it is seeing the very route through which I ran for my life, I can't help but feel a lift in my chest at the thought of holding my weapons- a lift that turns immediately into a drop as I turn the last corner. Despair sweeps over me; as much as I dislike the thought of being unable to rely on my own body, I pray my eyes are lying to me as I stand for a moment and take in the scene before me.

What was yesterday a smooth slope up to my cavern is now an indistinguishable pile of rock. The once seamless cliff edge is sharp and jagged, and great chunks of the mountain spread out around the base for at least 20 yards. I don't know what's caused it, but this rock fall has torn my cave from the cliff face, and with it my weapons.

I swallow bitter anger and disappointment down as I step forward, slowly clambering over the remains of what was once my safe haven. I tell myself a nearby chunk looks familiar and heave it over, but I am met with nothing but more anonymous rock, mocking my foolishness at thinking I had found a safe place in this arena. I stand there for a moment surveying the destruction before me and then anger takes over and I begin shifting quickly through the rocks, my eyes and fingers desperately searching for my armoury. I heave aside boulder after boulder, my arms aching in protest and sweat pouring down my face as I refuse to admit defeat. I draw blank after blank, finding nothing but indistinguishable rubble as I heave through, and the sun is high in the sky by the time I finally grind to a halt and admit the truth- my weapons are gone for good.

I slide to the ground, landing heavily, and angrily brush away tears of frustration with the back of my hand as I walk away. The walk calls to mind the same anxiety I felt when I was walking away from my weapons back in the District, only this is worse- these were harder won, and could actually have saved my life. Instead they are buried under a pile of rock, and I'm out in the open at midday with few provisions as a result of searching for them. I swallow the dry lump in my throat as I try and push my brain through the loss and begin to walk blindly.

I'm not trying to track my direction, not doing anything but aimlessly wandering around in the hope of finding some direction. The permanent loss of my weapons is a heavy blow, and I find myself struggling to summon up any enthusiasm. I walk silently for at least an hour before my growling stomach gives me some guidance and I decide to stock up. I head back to the thicker growth in which I had such success before, and pretty soon I've managed to kill another bird. Only one this time; they aren't as plentiful as they were before, so either the source has been excessively tapped or they are wise to being hunted. Still, it's something, and I rip its feathers away in handfuls as I follow the path back to where I know to find water.

I'm not looking forward to heading back to the pool I was trapped in, as it will highlight my lack of achievements all the more, prove to me how little I have accomplished since I left; fortunately I am spared this as I soon spot a stream that must break off from it, and after drinking and refilling here I head off in the opposite direction.

I'm wandering aimlessly again; it's been a pattern I've repeated more than I'd like, walking all over the arena for no good reason, and for the first time it occurs to me that I must at some point have walked past some tributes. It's a miracle really that I've barely run into any, that my only collision so far was with Asha. I'm sure to have passed by some other tributes at some point, so they must have stayed out of sight. I wonder why they didn't confront me?

I remember what Kirin said, about knowing I was good, and I feel a slight flash of pleasure at the thought that the tributes may have been hiding from me, and realise that they probably were; I imagine I did look intimidating, stalking the woods with my spear and axe, and this also makes me consider that the audience may have the same view of me- that I'm ready for trouble, even if I haven't found any.

The brief lift of hope this gives me soon vanishes, however, as I remember that those weapons that kept me as a key player in the game are now buried under rubble, and that if there are any tributes around I am no longer as intimidating a figure as I was before. This thought makes me realise I should make some attempt to arm myself, but the most I can do is tug a knife from my bag, and even this is just a half-hearted defensive move. I'm in no mind to do any damage today; the best I can do is find somewhere to spend the night without dying. The ground begins to slope slightly, and though my instinct is to stick to higher ground I sullenly push this aside and carry on walking. What can it hurt? I've nothing better to do.

* * *

I wander aimlessly for hours, keeping watch constantly now that the other tributes have entered my head, but I see nothing. I'm moving deeper into a heavy part of the forest by heading down this ravine, but it's an area I haven't seen before, so I don't let myself relax for a second even under the heavy cover of the trees. Though tiring, being constantly alert has the dual effect of making me look ready for action; I hope this is enough to win favour from the audience, as at this point it's really all I have left to work with. Bearing this in mind, I clutch my knife tighter and scan the trees with what I hope is an aggressive, hunter's expression. _I'm ready for battle, _I try to communicate to the audience. _I just haven't had the chance._

I'm so focused on maintaining my stance that I almost miss it; a long, fine black rope snaking through the grass. I freeze immediately, my heart pounding at this unnatural object, this sign of life. I follow it warily with my eyes until I focus in on the spot where it makes contact with the base of a tree, and crossing slowly over to it I reach down, tugging at the rope. There's a barely audible snap, and I jump as the rope immediately leaps skywards, tugging with it a large, lightly wound net that materialises from the ground only yards from where I was standing.

I stare at it in shock as it hangs limply in the sky, bobbing slightly, and a cold chill runs through me. That could have been me. I would have been able to cut myself free of course, but the net is high and I would have had trouble getting down, especially if whoever made it is making regular checks as to its success. All in all, it's a highly effective and expertly laid trap. It seems I've stumbled across the hunting ground of at least one person, and instantly my guard is up.

I slink back a little further into the trees, my knife primed for more than show, and cautiously pace across the darkening ground. I've walked for barely a few more minutes before I spot a flash of silver ahead of me. The sunlight is fading now, but still bright enough for me to make them out in the grass. Snares. And the definite outline of some lightly-trod footprints. I quickly survey the area to ensure that I am alone before inspecting the snares. They are made with very fine wire looped over sticks- far too advanced for me to even know what they do. The one I'm looking at is empty but there are a handful dotted around, and a quick survey brings up four rabbits. I feel a stab of envy; whoever set these up is good. Better than good, if they also set up the net. And if this is one days capture, they've been eating well. _They've been doing better than me._

The thought leaps into my head unbidden and I recoil at it, turning away from the snare field and heading back into the trees. My mood has been so ambivalent since landing in the arena; I seem to go from joy to despair in a never ending arch, and it's somewhat exhausting. In not used to such strong emotions, having lived my life in a kind of cold perseverance, and I'm surprised to discover it's pretty draining. I briefly contemplate stealing the rabbits from the snares, but decide against it. I don't want to leave any signs that I was here; when the tribute returns, I plan to take them totally by surprise. Then we'll see who's the better tribute.

I feel a grim satisfaction as I consider it, then immediately wonder what it says about me; that planning a kill has lifted my mood. I quickly disregard it as I realise the sky around me is rapidly darkening- I have to find somewhere to sleep. A quick survey tells me that once again I will be safest up high, and so I scale a tree barely yards from the clearing. I am determined to stay in sight of the snares, to ensure I will be able to catch sight of the person laying them- whoever they are, they are far too talented at keeping themselves alive to be allowed to stay that way.

I strap myself into the tree, cursing the loss of my sleeping bag as the night air cools rapidly; yet another prize I have managed to lose through my incompetence. My stomach grumbles, and though I feel undeserving I reluctantly finish the crackers I stole from the careers. They seem so far away now I am here, and I can't help but feel that familiar trickling sensation of security. I roughly push it aside, squinting into the sky as the anthem blares. I have felt enough fake security in this arena to know I should not let myself believe it, even for a second. This is just a tree. A tree from which I will keep watch for a person I intend to kill and then never inhabit again.

Once again the sky is clear of faces, and I find I am irritated. If I am growing impatient then I can only imagine what the audience is going through, and if there is not another death tomorrow then I it seems likely that the Capitol will stir things up. The thought rattles me, and I focus my attention back on the clearing. It's totally dark now, and the overcrowded trees above mean that I can barely make out anything. In this darkness it's unlikely that the tribute will come this way tonight; much more likely they will come at first light. I don't know whether I genuinely believe this or if I'm making excuses due to my exhaustion, the result of a lack of sleep, the amount of walking I've done today and my constant heightened emotions, but whatever it is I manage to convince myself it's true as I fall gratefully to sleep.


	31. Chapter 31

My eyes open so suddenly that for a moment I'm sure that the forest isn't real, so convinced is my brain that I'm still asleep. I blink stupidly, staring at the branches waving softly in my face until a slight rustle catches my attention. I turn my head to the left ever so slightly and feel my chest tighten. It's Kendo. The boy from District 3 who stood to my right at the Cornucopia, the boy who seemed so convinced he could take care of himself. Now I see why.

I stare in astonishment as he retrieves the rabbits, deftly winding new traps in their places. He's moving so fast, his fingers a blur as he quickly and quietly moves from snare to snare, resetting them at such speed that I can't believe I'm witnessing it. Of all the tributes I can't believe it's this tiny boy who's arrived here, that it's him who I was so jealous of yesterday. The thought makes my brain snap to attention and I remember why I'm here in the first place. Not to watch him; to kill him.

A kind of cold mist settles over my brain as I stare at him, and my hunter's instinct takes over. He's no longer a short, skinny boy with shaggy brown hair, bony arms and wire glasses he keeps pushing up his nose. He's my target. And he's moving fast; I have to move faster.

I reach silently above my head and dislodge one of the knives I placed there yesterday for precisely this reason. I narrow my eyes, watching as he leans over a snare, his small fingers twisting the intricate wire, and lean as far forward as I can. I let out a slow breath and then my wrist flicks. My heart leaps as it flies through the air, but just as I release it he rises to his feet and there's a dull thud as the knife lands in his upper thigh, the spot where just seconds ago I aimed for his head. Cursing, I reach for another knife, but before I can even get a grasp the handle Kendo has pulled he knife from his leg, discarded it on the ground and is running free of the clearing.

I blink in astonishment at his level-headedness, forcing myself to get a grip on my own. Moving as fast as I can I wrench my possessions into the bag, sling it onto my back, drop heavily to the ground and begin to run. Now my head is clear I'm nothing but single minded focus, my feet flying swift and silent as I run in the direction Kendo left. I can hear nothing but my pulse in my ears; my brain has almost shut down to the point where all I can think of is the chase, the hunt. I'm clutching a knife in both hands and my eyes and ears are working in unison, scanning the area for signs of life as I run and run through the forest, my mind totally focused on my target. My intention is so single minded that I'm literally incapable of thinking; all I can do is run, search, try and find this boy, but he's either a fast mover or a skilled hider. Soon enough I find myself grinding to a halt, frustration pounding in my veins as I turn my head from side to side, searching for any clue as to where he has gone. It takes a while for my brain to shift back a gear, for me to gain any sense of my surroundings, and when it does I'm forced to acknowledge that I've lost him.

I've had little experience tracking, and as a result all I've been doing is following the most likely course through the forest, letting my body run where it instinctively wants to in the hope that it is the same course Kendo took. It's a technique that has proved ineffective, and I curse my lack of skill in tracking as I survey the area around me, my fists clenched in frustration around the handles of my knives. I refuse to let him slip from my grasp, not now that the urge to do some damage is pumping through my veins, and realising I am heading into a part of the forest I've not been before, towards the dunes, I decide I've nothing to lose by following the path I've led myself on- after all, I've barely come across anyone in the places I've already been. Maybe this unexplored territory is where he's hiding.

My determination returns tenfold as I steel myself, embracing the adrenaline in my blood and my quickening pulse as I set off into the depths of the unexplored forest. There's a surge of adrenaline that's pushing me to up the pace that I struggle to control, but I manage it, cautiously picking my way through the undergrowth, cutting away the heavy growth here and there as it blocks my path. I can see why this would be a good hiding place, if this is where Kendo is based- the trees are so dense and the undergrowth so thick that he could easily squirrel himself away here and I might never spot him. This thought subdues me a little, but I continue cutting my way forwards, continue searching. My body is aching for release after all that build up, desperate to do some damage, and I can't help but follow the urge.

I continue pushing forward, but over time my resolve slips further and logical thoughts slip unbidden in between the violent determination that has overwhelmed my head. Thoughts telling me that I have no chance of finding him now. Doubts. I try to ignore them, try to push the mindless aggression back to the front of my brain, but it's too hard. I'm too hot, tired, thirsty, too frustrated not to give in, and to my dismay I can feel this part of my brain begin to control my head again. It's then that I spot something that makes my determination come back. The silver glint of a snare. And it's got a rabbit.

A prickle of anticipation runs through me at the sight of it. This means he hasn't been this way yet, but if it's on his circuit he may well do. I may be closing in on his base. A tingle of excitement is buzzing around me as I close my hands around my knives with a renewed vigour. He's mine.

I'm bending to inspect the trap, contemplating my next move, when I hear a noise that causes my stomach muscles to clench involuntarily. It's a loud snap, followed by a dragging, rustling noise and a loud cry. It's unmistakable, this noise, as the sound I encountered just hours ago, the sound of that slender black rope being released, tugging the net upwards. But that isn't the noise that's caused my heart to still in my throat. It's the voice, the voice that cried out. Such a brief sound, but I knew it straight away. I recognise that voice. Seconds later, perfectly timed to confirm my suspicions, I hear another voice, deep and urgent and about 500 yards to my left.

"Caleb?"

My head snaps towards the unmistakable sound of Kirin, and then my blood freezes in my veins as I hear the reply.

"Kirin! Help me!"

I start to move even before I hear Kirin's response, through the bracken in the direction of Caleb's panicked voice. All I can think of is Nico, his mirrored desperate cry, what came after it. And all I can think is; _not Caleb. I can't let that happen to Caleb_.

I hear running feet ahead of me and I stifle a panicked noise in my throat. My heart is pounding but I can already feel my joints locking, my arms preparing themselves for battle as I slice through some undergrowth, immediately halting as this action opens a clear line of sight through the bracken. Ahead of me is a dense covering of bowed trees, and from it bobs a net, just as it did yesterday. This net however is unnaturally skewed, pulled violently out of shape by the figure of Caleb caught inside it.

My heart leaps at the sight of him, so familiar and yet different, irreparably changed by the games. His face is streaked with dirt and blood, and his eyes switch from panic to relief as he focuses on a point 50 yards ahead of me to my left. I watch as the tall, imposing figure of Kirin emerges from that spot, Lisbeth emerging behind him in quick succession, her pace twice his in order to keep up with his long strides.

"Kirin!"

Caleb instantly relaxes, but I'm still tense, my skin prickling as I hold my hidden position, my eyes trained unblinkingly on Kirin and Lisbeth as they approach him.

"Jesus. A trap? Kid's good."

Kirin reaches up, his fingertips brushing the material of the net suspending Caleb. He's tall, and even he can barely reach it, proving that Kirin is right. Kendo, assuming he knows that's who he means, is good. I feel a slight spark of anger and possessiveness deep inside me at the idea they might have been pursuing my target, but this slips away as Kirin steps backwards and surveys Caleb, tipping his head to one side.

"Tell me about it. Caught me totally off guard. I dropped my knife."

Caleb nods his head across to a large machete which Kirin reaches for, clasping it firmly in his hand as he folds his arms across his broad chest, looking thoughtfully up at Caleb.

"High, too. How we gonna get you down?"

My eyes are so locked on Kirin that I don't even notice Lisbeth move, not until she passes right in front of my sight line and swivels on her heel, turning to face Kirin as she lowers her voice slightly.

"Who says we have to?"

The unease I've been feeling as I've watched this entire scenario unfold suddenly makes sense, and a chill runs through my blood. Kirin looks down in surprise, his gaze locking onto Lisbeth as she stares back at him, her eyes dark with meaning. I watch as comprehension slowly crosses over Kirin's face, his eyes swivelling back up to Caleb. I follow his gaze, surprised to see Caleb looking relatively calm. Does he not see it? The precariousness of his situation? The way that Kirin's eyes are suddenly dark? This whole scenario is too similar to the one I witnessed with Nico, but with once clear difference- for Caleb, I won't hesitate. I don't know why, but I can't allow his trusting nature to be the death of him.

I tighten my grip on my knives as all three of us fix our gaze on Kirin, waiting for his response. Kirin hasn't moved, hasn't done anything, is simply staring at Caleb, who is staring back at him. It's like nobody wants to break the silence- nobody can bring themselves to. Lisbeth still has her back to Caleb, either unable to face him in her betrayal or already dismissive of his fate, and as I watch she places a hand on Kirin's arm, her eyes still fixed earnestly on his face. This seems to jump start everyone, as Caleb suddenly speaks.

"Kirin. Guys. Come on. Cut me down."

There's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before, and we can all hear it. It's clear now that whatever happens, a wedge has been inserted into this unstable group of allies, and that makes Caleb's position all the more dangerous. It can't be the three of them anymore, they all know it- as soon as Lisbeth opened her mouth, she destroyed that chance forever. It's either Kirin and Lisbeth or Kirin and Caleb. I know who I would choose, but I have no way of reading Kirin, and his immovable face is unsettling me. Lisbeth tightens her grip on Kirin, stepping closer.

"Kirin, think. Who says we have to? We had to lose him eventually, you know it as well as I do. Why not now? We'll do better alone."

Her voice is taking on an unsubtle wheedling tone, and she's smiling at Kirin in a sickening, smarmy manner. It's so false it makes my stomach turn, but could he believe it? She steps forwards slightly and leans in closer, her eyes locked on Kirin.

"It's a game, Kirin. And in order to win, you have to lose the competition. You know we should."

Kirin's eyes are fixed back on Lisbeth, and a slight smirk has cut across his face. It makes my skin crawl, and Caleb must see it too as he suddenly speaks.

"Kirin"

Caleb's voice is low, urgent, but I can hear the desperation in his tone.

"Remember what we said. Remember what we agreed."

Kirin looks up at Caleb, fingering the blade in his hand as he surveys him thoughtfully.

"Agreed?"

Lisbeth's voice cuts in and she turns to glare at Caleb before snapping her head back to Kirin, her ponytail swinging sharply behind her. "What did you agree?"

Kirin slowly lowers his gaze back to Lisbeth and raises his eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter. He wasn't trapped in a tree when we agreed it."

I watch as realisation dawns on both Caleb and Lisbeth's faces, but this symmetry is immediately replaced by the start contrast between the shock and terror on Caleb's face and the evil look of glee that flashes across Lisbeth's features. She laughs sharply and turns back to survey Caleb. I remember thinking she was pretty, but I don't think that now. The look on her face is the ugliest I've ever seen.

"Kirin. Guys. Please."

Caleb's voice has raised an octave and you can tell he's shaking, his eyes wide as he tugs desperately at the thick rope. The tree shakes as he does, sprinkling leaves onto the two figures standing below, showering his desperation over them as he pleads for his life.

Kirin steps forward, swinging the machete around in his hand, and Caleb tries to scramble back in the net, his voice high and panicked.

"Kirin! No! We agreed! We promised-"

"No room for promises." Kirin cuts him off calmly. "It's a game, man. We gotta play. And you know the rules, same as me."

Lisbeth laughs, loud and shrill, and this obnoxious sound through the tense silence is like a bolt of electricity, shooting through me and snapping me into action.

I charge forward, crashing through the undergrowth as I burst into the gathering of trees and let my knife fly. It whistles forward and lands squarely in the side of Kirin's neck, landing neatly as he turns at the sound of my arrival. Lisbeth shrieks loudly as Kirin drops the machete, his face a picture of astonishment as he reaches for the knife and tugs it out. I don't wait to see the blood pouring from his wound as I turn to Lisbeth and throw.

She's ready for me, her eyes wide with panic as she flings herself to the side, my knife embedding itself in the ground where she has just jumped from. I curse, turning sharply to scan for weapons as I hear her scramble to her feet and begin to run.

Kirin is on his knees, coughing and wretching as blood splatters across the forest floor, and I lunge for him, my hands stretching for the machete as he uselessly lunges for me with the knife he's pulled from his own throat. I dart aside easily and swivel on my heel, watching as he falls forward, choking on blood. I wrench the knife from his palm as he lies there coughing, and without thinking bring it down hard on his temple. The force of the blow jolts up my arm as it makes contact, and I fall backwards from the impact as he immediately goes limp.

I lie there for a moment, staring dumbly at him as my knife protrudes from his skull, and then jump as the cannon booms across the sky. I blink rapidly, stupidly wondering for a split second who the cannon is for, struggling to re-engage my brain cells, and it's only then that I remember Caleb.


	32. Chapter 32

My stomach drops and I feel a chill run through me. I force myself to look up from the ground to where Caleb is suspended above me and see him staring at me, his face a picture of utter horror. As our eyes meet I swallow, suddenly seeing the scene unfold from his eyes, and then slowly stand up. My legs are trembling as I lean over Kirin and attempt to dislodge my knife, but I instantly realise it's useless. It's so embedded that I can't make it move, and even my hardest tug only rewards me with an ear splitting squeak, a horrific squeal as the blade tugs against the bone of his skull. I let go, watching as his head flops uselessly back to the ground, and instead stagger past him to retrieve the knife I threw at Lisbeth.

I limp my way back to the circle of trees surrounding the suspended net, my shaking legs making every step uncertain, and scan the area until I spot the tell-tale black rope I released at the previous trap hidden in some branches just behind where Caleb is hanging. I approach it and reach up with my knife, and as I do he stiffens and shrinks back.

"Tyla-"

He blurts it out so suddenly that it makes me start. It's the first time I've heard my name since entering the arena, which is unsettling enough, but what's really disturbed me is the fear in Caleb's voice; the fear which tells me he thought I was going to kill him.

I shake my head slightly, trying to rid my brain of this repellent thought as I reach for the rope, clasping it tightly at the lowest point I can and cutting through it in one stroke. I immediately buckle under the weight of holding Caleb up, my arms protesting at the sudden strain, but I manage to hold on long enough to lower him to a little over a metre off the ground before the rope gets too high and I'm forced to let go.

I turn to him as he hits the ground heavily and grab a handful of the net, cutting it loose and pulling the strands free as he heaves himself into a sitting position. He covers his face with his hands as he takes deep breaths and I look at him awkwardly, fingering the knife in my hand.

"Are you ok?" I say finally. He raises his eyes to meet mine and I'm amazed to see tears.

"Tyla. My God. I thought…I saw the knife hit Kirin and I thought…I thought it was the careers. I thought that was it. I thought…."

He trails off and lets out a long shaky breath; I can see he's holding back from crying and I stare at him in shock, suddenly irrationally guilty. His reaction at being cornered, his imminent death, is so unashamedly emotional, so worlds away from mine was, that the comparison is making me feel inadequate. I'm looking at it from his point of view- being caught in the net, being turned on by his own teammates, then seeing a knife appear out of nowhere and thinking you are about to die.

Perhaps I should have called out or something, let him know it was me, that he didn't have to worry. It didn't occur to me; I just assumed he would see me, know everything was alright, but the fear in his voice when he first said my name tells me that he thought I was going to kill him anyway, that he was one of my targets. He obviously thinks I'm a monster, a hunter, a killer. But isn't that what I am? Strange, I wanted to think so, but now Caleb is here I couldn't bear him to think that.

I look at him, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy as he calms himself, and bite my lip, suddenly desperate to have him think well of me, desperate to make amends for charging out and terrifying him. "Sorry" I say, watching nervously for his reaction, and he lifts his face, staring at me in astonishment.

"Sorry? Tyla, you saved me! You saved my life! No question! If you hadn't been here..."

He trails off, staring at me, then suddenly throws himself forward. I jolt in surprise as he wraps his arms around me in a grateful hug. I freeze, my body stiffening as he holds me. I've been out in the woods alone for what feels like forever, and to suddenly be pushed into such close proximity to another person is as unsettling as it is comforting; the feeling is so foreign and curious that I'm not sure what to make of it.

Before I've had time to consider my reaction Caleb pulls away, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand in a motion so fast I can't tell if he's hiding it from me or the cameras. He takes a long shaky breath and places his hand over his heart.

"I can't believe I'm still here. I really thought that was it."

I shrug awkwardly and he looks up at me in wonder.

"And then you arrived. Out of nowhere. How did you even get here? Were you following us?"

I shake my head quickly, unable to stomach the idea of Caleb thinking I might have been hunting him even for a second.

"I was following someone…else. And then I heard you, and I saw them. I heard Lisbeth."

I swallow, struggling to explain why I leapt to save the life of a fellow tribute who I should be hoping to see die.

"I couldn't let them do that to you. It didn't seem right."

He shakes his head in amazement.

"You just happened to be there. Right when I needed you. Amazing. You're like my guardian Angel."

To my horror I feel a flush creep into my cheeks and I quickly duck my head, standing up. "Well, I don't know about that. Lisbeth got away."

I walk slowly in the direction she ran, stooping to pick up the machete as I do, and slice away a few overhanging trees, scanning the area. I'm not really expecting her to be anywhere close; I just can't deal with the emotional overload from Caleb. As I suspected she's long gone, but I keep slicing at the bushes anyway, keeping up the pretence of searching until I hear the scrabbling sound of Caleb rising to his feet. I turn to look at him and immediately spot blood; it's weeping from a long, raw gash on his arm.

"You're bleeding!" I say in surprise, gesturing, and he looks down, his face just as surprised as mine.

"Oh. I didn't even notice."

He shakes his head, slightly dazed, and then winces as he brushes his fingers along it. I cross back over to him in a few paces, grasping his arm and inspecting the damage. It's only skin deep but it looks sore.

"You must have done it when the net dragged you across the ground."

I drop my backpack on the ground and zip it open, digging through for my medical supply kit. He gives a pained gasp as I rub an antibiotic wipe over his skin and then nods slowly.

"Yea, must have. Did you see that then? I thought you said you heard me?"

He's saying it calmly enough, but there's a twinge of suspicion in his eyes; he still doesn't totally believe me, still thinks I may have been hunting him. I suppose that's logical, given the circumstances we are in and my reaction to the suggestion of an alliance, but it still hurts, and I shrug the sharp sting aside as I retrieve some antiseptic cream from my bag.

"I spotted a similar trap earlier. Saw how it worked."

He nods slowly. "Right. That's how you knew how to cut it down. Is that why you were hunting him?"

I nod, not liking the image of a hunter that's being painted by Caleb. But then, isn't that what I was? Running through the forest after Kendo, heart racing with the desperate urge to kill? I swallow this thought and instead ease some the cream over Caleb's wound as he sucks in some air through his teeth.

"It'll be fine. Barely skin deep," I say, and then immediately wonder why I care. It makes so little sense, that I would try to heal this boy when I would benefit from his death. I should take advantage of his weakness and kill him. At the very least I should leave him, knowing his chance of survival has lessened; instead, I am endeavouring to help him. I look up into his face as I fasten the lid back on the cream and immediately feel a jolt in my stomach as he stares back at me, gratitude and warmth in his eyes.

"It has. It feels better already."

I nod, putting the tube back in my bag. I'm moving slowly, as I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now; this is something I'm not ready for. My lone wolf strategy was all I had, my plan to kill whoever crossed my path, and now I've saved someone. Saved Caleb. And everything's different. I eventually sling the bag back onto my back and look across at Kirin's body, then up at the sky.

"They'll be wanting to take him," I say, insinuating that we should move without using the word we, without presuming that there _is_ a 'we'.

"Yea, right. Of course."

Caleb takes the machete I'm holding out to him and watches as I unleash the sword from Kirin's waist and attach it to my own. I've never used a sword before, but knowing that I'm properly armed again makes a weight lift from my shoulders. A weight that's lifted as the result of stealing from the corpse of a man I just murdered. I glance at Caleb to see if he's thinking it too, but he just nods down at the knife still protruding from Kirin's head.

"What about that?"

I look down at it, the blood already congealing and crusted around the blade, and shake my head.

"Couldn't get it out."

Caleb hesitates, then reaches past me, grasping the blade and tugging. I wince as that same bone shrieking noise cuts into the air and Caleb immediately lets go, stepping backwards.

"Jesus. How did you get that in there in the first place?"

He looks at me with a kind of awed fear, and since it's better than disgust I accept it with a half-smile and begin to walk away.

"Tyla."

I turn as Caleb walks up to me, ducking down slightly to look me in the eye, his expression serious. He takes a breath, as though considering his words, and then licks his lips slightly. He's nervous, I realise. So am I. Nervous at suggesting what's always been in the back of my head, even more nervous at leaving him alone. But I won't say it. I'm so incapable of admitting it, so terrible at voicing anything resembling an emotion, that I know if he doesn't say it I'll walk away. Even after all I've done to save him; I'm that proud, that emotionally immature. Words, especially serious ones, do not come easily to me. Fortunately, they do to Caleb, and he locks his immovable gaze back on mine as I feel my pulse spike a little.

"Tyla, I would be dead if it wasn't for you. I owe you. And in my District, debts are always repaid. If I can, I will save your life. Allies?"

I feel a rush of so many emotions at once- panic, fear, uncertainty, and overwhelming relief- relief that I won't have to leave him alone, relief that _I _won't be alone. For all my insistence I didn't want an alliance, I can't deny the peculiar prickle of comfort I feel at being in Caleb's presence, and the truth is, if I was to have an ally I would have chosen him. I look at him for a moment then give a slow nod, my heart leaping as a smile breaks over his face.

"Great. Brilliant." He claps me on the shoulder and then looks up. "We'd better move."

And just like that, I becomes we, and I find myself with a partner. I'm still not sure how it's going to affect me, if I'll even be able to work with someone else after years of being alone, but already we've instinctively aligned our actions as we move through the undergrowth in silence, an unspoken agreement to listen out for the hovercraft. We soon hear the birds fall silent and the slight hum as Kirin's body is collected, and as soon as the hum recedes and the sounds of life come back to the forest Caleb looks across at me.

"You have a base?"

I pull a slight face, reluctant to reveal my less than impressive performance up until this point, and shake my head.

"I did….I lost it. I work better moving around."

I add this last past quickly, unwilling to have him pity me, but he just nods.

"That makes sense, since you were by yourself."

"What about you? A base? Did you guys have a plan?"

"Yea, we had a base. Not sure about a plan though. We pretty much let Kirin decide."

He jumps from a slight ledge as he speaks, landing heavily and then turning back, offering his hand to help me down. I look at it in surprise, and then at him, and he awkwardly pulls it back, biting his lip.

"Sorry. Instinct."

I jump down beside him and watch him out of the corner of my eye as we continue walking. Now I've made him feel guilty for helping me. I suppose he thinks I feel like he was questioning my ability, but in truth I was just thrown by the gesture. He's so out of place here in the arena; his manners, his demeanour, everything about him is just so at odds with this place, and moments like that highlight it more than ever. I clear my throat as we continue walking.

"So where's your base?"

"By the dunes, maybe 2 hours that way."

He's gesturing to our right, not the direction we've been heading, and I look at him in surprise. "You don't want to go back there?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "Not really. Not unless you want to. We carried most of our stuff with us. Lisbeth had most of it."

He adds this as an afterthought, and I feel a stab of annoyance that I let her get away. "Right."

He looks across at me and his face breaks into a smile.

"Doesn't matter anyway. I have you now."

I start a little at this accolade, and my face must change as he immediately falters.

"I mean…not that I mean that I think I have you, I didn't mean that…."

He stumbles over his words a little and I just watch him in confusion, but again he must take it as something it's not as he lets out a quick huff of embarrassed laughter.

"I didn't mean that I think you're mine or anything like that. I just meant that I'm sure you're better at this stuff than me."

He looks at me awkwardly and I realise in surprise that I make him nervous. The thought makes me relax a little and I smile.

"I got it. Don't worry. Although don't be so sure about me being better at this than you."

He laughs as if he thinks I'm joking and we lapse into silence as we carry on through the forest. I realise I'm instinctively leading us away from the dense overgrowth, away from my best chance of hunting Kendo, but this doesn't bother me anymore. I've killed Kirin. I've got a sword. I've found Caleb, and maybe I feel like that's enough for one day.


	33. Chapter 33

Whilst nothing has really changed since I added Caleb to my number, I feel like everything has. Physically I've done nothing different- I've walked and kept my eyes open for prey, both human and animal, and Caleb and I haven't spoken, so really it's as if he isn't there at all. And yet he is, his presence so large, so evident, that I'm more on edge than ever for so many reasons; aware that the two of us are more obvious than I was alone, aware that I have to keep watch for the both of us now and not just me, that I have someone to protect. And most of all, aware that I don't want to come across as the brutal animal I'm sure he sees me as. None of his warm, talkative nature has been apparent so far, and I'm sure it's because he's seen me at my worst; murdering Kirin without a thought. I know that I saved him, but I still can't put that thought out of my mind, and it's all I've been able to think of for the last hour or so, building up in my head until it's the sole focus of my thoughts. It's only when I've lead us back into the pined area of the arena, the area I feel most secure, most safe, that I'm finally able to voice these fears, and I stop suddenly, turning on my heel as Caleb stumbles to a halt directly in front of me.

"I had to kill him you know."

He blinks down at me in confusion as I continue.

"Kirin. He was going to kill you. He would have killed me too. I didn't have a choice."

I scan his eyes anxiously, waiting for his response, and his own eyes widen.

"I know that. Tyla, I know! Why did you think I wouldn't?"

I bite my lip as I struggle to put my fears into words.

"Before, you told me that you didn't think you could. And that I could. You said it like it was bad. I mean, I know it's bad, but it's the games. We have to do it, you know? And I didn't want you thinking…because I know you wouldn't…."

I trail off, cursing my inadequate speech, and Caleb suddenly grips me by the shoulders.

"Tyla, I killed Leon."

I blink up at him in astonishment, shaking my head slightly as I remember the face of the career in the sky that first day. "Leon? How?"

He sighs, letting his hands drop from my shoulders and running them over his face.

"When I said that before, I didn't mean that it was a bad thing. You're in this situation same as me, I know that, I just meant…. I meant that you knew you could do it, if you had to. You could take care of yourself and I didn't know if I could. I was wishing I had your courage."

He steps away from me, running his hands though his hair, and sighs.

"I wasn't judging you Tyla, of course I wasn't. I would never. And like I said, I've done it myself. We're in the same boat."

He sighs and sinks down to sit on a stack of boulders, tugging up a blade of grass which he fiddles with as he speaks, unable to meet my eyes.

"At the Cornucopia…it was the worst thing I've ever seen. I couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe. It felt like it would never end at yet it was over so fast, it was like it didn't happen."

I watch him in silence as he drops the shredded grass and tugs up some more.

"Me and Kirin, we were holding them off as well as we could, trying to fight them, but the others were scattering and there were so many of them. I saw Leon-"

He breaks off and swallows and I take a few steps closer, instinctively wanting to comfort him but with no idea how.

"Leon, I saw him coming for Kirin. And it's like you said, in the Capitol. I had to. I had a club in my hand, I don't even know where it came from, and I hit him-"

He breaks off suddenly, his head dropping, and I cautiously sit on the rocks beside him as he continues.

"I didn't stop. I just….there was blood everywhere. And I didn't stop."

He's dropped the grass now and is just staring at the palms of his hands.

"I just kept on hitting him, even after he went down. Kirin had to pull me off." He gives a bitter laugh and clenches his fists. "So yea, I get it. I know you had to do it, same as I did."

He looks sideways at me, and I feel my stomach tug at the sadness in his eyes.

"We're both killers now."

I shake my head slightly at the irony of the situation; that it is me forced to comfort him for causing a death, when just moments ago I was so sure he was judging me for it. I look down at my hands, knowing how much pain this revelation must have caused Caleb, trying to summon up some comfort but struggling to put it into words.

"You're not a killer Caleb. Not really. You were saving Kirin."

Caleb nods. "And you were saving me. I know that. I get it, trust me. I just….I can't forget it. I hate how easily I did it. I didn't want to be that guy."

It's so ludicrous I want to laugh, but I settle for shaking my head, instinctively placing my hand over his clenched fists, unable to fight the urge to soften them.

"You didn't do it easily, Caleb. Listen to yourself. You can't forget it. If you had done it easily, it wouldn't have bothered you. You would have forgotten all about it."

_Like I did._ I add this part to myself silently, watching as Caleb looks up at me. "You think?" he says, not even trying to hide the hope in his voice, and I nod firmly.

"I know. It wouldn't bother the careers. You're not like them, not at all. You're different. I knew it, right away."

He looks at me in surprise, and I immediately feel a flush creep into my face as I realise I've said too much. I drop his hands and leap to my feet, turning to survey the area.

"We should keep moving."

I keep my back to him as I hear him stand up and clear his throat, knowing I should turn around but waiting for the blush to clear from my face.

"Yea, ok. Do you know where we're going? Any sort of plan?"

He says it apologetically, as if he doesn't want to ask, but he's right. I have no idea where we are going. For a moment I contemplate making something up, trying to appear in control, but I write it off as useless and sigh, finally turning back to him.

"No. Not really. I was heading for water, but after that I've no idea. I've not been doing too well so far."

I add this reluctantly, regretting it as soon as I do, but he simply shakes his head in disbelief.

"Yea right. I'm sure you've been awful."

He's grinning sarcastically at me, and I can't bear to tell him it's true, so I don't push it, shrugging awkwardly.

"I've been jumping around mostly, staying in temporary bases or trees. Although with you..." I trail off and he nods.

"Yea, we can't really hang out in a tree together huh. But no matter." He claps his hands together and grins. "I'll make us a shelter."

I look at him with raised eyebrows and he cocks his head. "Come on Tyla, you didn't think you were the only one with hidden talents did you?"

If I'm honest that's exactly what I had been thinking- at least when it came to Caleb. He's tough looking sure, but something about him made me think I'd be protecting him. I feel myself blush again and he laughs.

"Come on. We'll find this water source of yours and set up. Is it the pool with the rocks? About an hour that way, through the pines?"

He gestures and I nod in surprise. Once again he's proved himself more wily than I knew, and somehow as we set off again he's walking ahead of me. I trail behind, feeling foolish for underestimating him. Of course he's good- he's still here isn't he? And he's so obviously stronger than me, when you look at him. I feel ridiculous for lessening him in my head, writing him off as sweet, friendly Caleb, and as I watch him stalking ahead of me in wide, purposeful strides I think of Leon. Of Leon's death.

My stomach gives a slight start, and I look at the suddenly towering boy in front of me in a new light. Not just a nice guy, but a guy with talents. A guy with a chance. A potential winner. I remember adding his name to the list of threats on the day I watched him get drawn from the tesserae, and am just wondering how I could have ever forgotten how strong he is when he turns his head to glance back at me, a curious smile on his face.

"Did you really put your name into the tesserae all those times?"

I start slightly at the weird similarity of our thoughts and nod without thinking. He nods approvingly, slowing slightly to fall into pace beside me, and casts a glance down at me, regarding me with admiration.

"You're brave. And selfless. I like that."

"Brave? Me?"

I stare at him in astonishment and he laughs.

"Signing yourself up to help others, I would call that pretty brave."

Oh Caleb. If only you knew the truth. That I care for nobody other than myself. That I did not volunteer for tesserae out of selflessness, but that it was a childish way of dangling a red flag in front of a bull, of tempting the Hunger Games my way. That I told myself it was my way of almost volunteering, but that if I was truly brave and selfless I would have volunteered alongside Dex when I was meant to, or all the times after that, instead of putting my head down until my name was drawn. That it was the opposite of bravery, it was cowardice.

"And you were going to volunteer... I wish I were as brave as you."

I don't feel worthy of the admiration in his voice, and I shake my head firmly. At the interview this was spun to make me appear selfless and brave, but for some reason I don't want Caleb to think it; not even when I've just been feeling inadequate next to him. For some reason, him thinking I'm selfless only makes me feel worse.

"I'm not brave. Not really. I ran like crazy from the Cornucopia."

It's a fact that's been haunting me since I landed in the arena, the surprising reaction of my body when confronted with a fight, and I'm shocked to hear it come out of my mouth. It's been bothering me endlessly just how much I overestimated my bravery; the fact that I turned and ran, that I keep running, keep hiding, has been lurking in my mind like a sore, constantly bothering and irritating at me, and now it's out I can feel it hanging over me like an ugly mist.

Once again I'm stuck by the ease I feel on Caleb's company; he was able to get my most shameful thought out of me without even trying, and it amazes me. I've spent my whole life saying nothing to anyone, so why is it that he can break me? And weirder still, after a lifetime of not caring what anyone thought, why do I find myself looking to another person for validation? Because that's what I'm doing; now that I've said it I'm staring at Caleb, dying for him to answer, desperate to hear what he makes of it even as I'm terrified to hear his reply. I stare up at him, waiting for his face to change, looking for surprise or derision, but instead his face is impassive as he shrugs and looks at me.

"Of course you ran. You had your weapons, you were fighting alone- why would you stay?"

This thought makes me start, and I blink in surprise. "Well...to fight!" I say, and he raises his eyebrows.

'By yourself? All the careers at once? Why on earth would you do that?'

My mind is racing as I struggle to comprehend his dismissiveness, and I draw to a halt, standing and staring after him as he obliviously carries on walking.

"It's what we're meant to do! It's what the careers do!"

He stops in surprise as he hears my voice from behind him, turning and staring at me in astonishment.

"Yea, the careers! All six of them with nothing to fear, nothing to do but fight together to take down the others! You were really planning on staying?"

He sounds so incredulous that I can't stop a flare of anger as I step towards him; even though it's true, I'm furious at his implication that I would be too afraid to do something he would do.

"You stayed!"

"Yea, course I did! With my team! We made a plan to fight together, you know that! What was I gonna do, meet up with them later?"

I pause, dumbstruck as I process his words, and as they sink in I feel my pulse start to slow. He laughs, shaking his head in amazement as he steps towards me, lowering his head slightly so his eyes are level with mine.

"You were seriously worried about this? Of course you ran, Tyla! You equipped yourself and you got out of there, just like every other solo fighter! And if I recall, you took out a career whilst doing it!"

_He's right_, I realise, wondering how on earth I could have forgotten. I killed a career in the first minute of the game. Why didn't that occur to me? I stare into his warm brown eyes in wonder as he continues, every word he says lifting the cloud of miserable mist from around my shoulders.

"I don't know what else you thought you could have done! And you thought you weren't brave? It's not like you needed to stay! If you'd agreed to be in the alliance and then run off and left everyone, then I might accuse you of cowardice."

At first I think he's saying that my refusal to join the alliance absolved me of any responsibility, but as he speaks his eyes darken and a flicker of something passes over his face. I frown slightly, questioningly, and he looks away before he responds.

"Rhona. She ran."

It's only now he says it that I realise she wasn't there. In the clearing. It hadn't even occurred to me. Kirin and Lisbeth were there course, and Jaya had been taken out at the Cornucopia, but I had totally forgotten Rhona, Caleb's District partner. She had abandoned them? It's strange, but in a way I feel like that's worse than what I did by refusing to join them at all; like abandoning them sooner rather than later was the more noble course of action. It feels foolish to think this, but Caleb obviously agrees; I can tell from the darkness on his face, and he shrugs as I stand and stare at him silently.

"So like I said, what you did wasn't cowardly. Not when you didn't promise to stay."

He looks so downcast, so betrayed, and I wish I could say something to make him smile again. His cheery nature is so infectious that seeing him like this actually blackens my own mood, and though I wish I could lift his spirits I have no idea how. I'm no good with comforting words, so instead I say the only thing I can think of; the truth.

"I would have done. If it had been only you, then I would have stayed."

As soon as I say it he lifts his eyes to mine; the darkness has gone, replaced with something I can't describe. Whatever it is it making my stomach turn, and suddenly I'm incredibly aware of how close we are standing. I clear my throat and take a step back, panic hammering in my throat as I attempt to explain myself, remove this weird feeling from the air.

"I didn't want them. The others, I mean. The alliance. I didn't know them, I didn't trust them. But not you. I mean, I knew you. I would have made an alliance with you. Probably."

I'm tripping over my words, and I regret throwing the last one in as soon as I do, but he doesn't seem to mind. His eyes are sparkling again and he smiles.

"Yea? You would?"

I hesitate and then nod, and he grins widely. "Then it's a good thing we made one in the end huh."

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding and laugh awkwardly, even though it's not funny. I'm just so glad the mood has lifted.

"Well only if we actually manage something." I reply, and he chuckles, turning to carry on walking.

"Course we will. Me and you Tyla, we're gonna be a dream team. I can feel it."


	34. Chapter 34

I can't get my head around the idea of being part of a team. The feeing I had when I first rescued Caleb, that desperate urge to keep him with me, was strange and anticipated at the same time; strange because I'm so used to isolation, but anticipated as I can't help but admit that I grudgingly enjoyed Caleb's company as soon as I was in it. He's too warm and friendly, too disarmingly charming not too like, and now we are together he's proved himself far more than just amiable- he's useful. A valuable teammate as well as a likeable one, and skilled in areas I lack; a fact he is demonstrating right now by building us a shelter. Well, supposedly anyway, although I'm still struggling to see this as a reality.

I glance back over my shoulder as I lean to pick up the bird I've just shot, looking back the way I've just come, the direction in which Caleb is currently constructing some sort of miracle shelter out of thin air. I shake my head at the memory. We had come across another stream leading off from the pool; yet another that I had missed. It's ironic that I had such trouble finding a water source on the first day I was here, how relieved I was to see the pool, as there seems to be tiny streams branching all over the arena. Despite our goal being the pool, Caleb and I had come across one of these streams and decamped beside it, refilling our various canteens and drinking silently. After a moment Caleb had spoken up.

"I guess we should make a camp."

An actual camp, as opposed to shirking up a tree. The idea had been comforting, calling back memories of being sheltered in the cave, but I had been reluctant simply due to my own lack of skill at making shelters. Still, Caleb had insisted he could do it, and so I had grudgingly agreed.

"Where?"

In my mind I had reluctantly been thinking of heading in the direction of the caves again, but Caleb had looked at me in surprise and then nodded around us.

"Why not here?"

I had stifled a laugh, unsure if he was joking but reluctant to seem as if I didn't take him seriously. "Right here? In the open?"

He had raised an eyebrow, amusement trickling over his features.

"It won't be open once I build a shelter."

He said it slowly, teasingly, but it still caught me the wrong way and I had almost snapped back.

"You know what I mean. Isn't this a bit exposed?"

Caleb had simply smiled, glossing over my spark of annoyance as he twisted the cap back onto his canteen.

"You're underestimating me again Tyla. Trust me, this is perfect."

I had hesitated then, not wanting to keep questioning him but still unsure how he could possibly be serious. The clearing we were in was bare and open, a small hollow of ground with a stream and a ridge. The ridge could provide some protection from the elements, but it was still too open and obvious to provide any sort of secrecy. I had shifted my gaze back from the surroundings to Caleb and found his face holding mixture of amusement and expectancy. Taking a deep breath, I had grudgingly shifted my fate over to his hands as I had nodded.

"Ok…when should we start building?"

Once again a wide beam had crossed his face as he had risen to his feet, brushing the dust from his hands onto his trousers as he looked around.

"No time like the present."

I had shaken my head incredulously, watching him walk around the exposed clearing picking up branches and kicking things aside. I could see no feasible way in which he could build any kind of a shelter here, and it seemed total idiocy to try. Still, he seemed sure of himself, and I was reluctant to give him reason to believe I wasn't, so I let him continue his fool's errand, watching as he seemed to establish a plan in his head.

I tried to help, mimicking his movements and collecting what I thought were similar materials, but they were tossed aside as inferior, clearly missing some vital element that I couldn't see. I could sense Caleb's exasperation at my useless interference but he didn't say it, and I was reluctant to simply sit and watch him, so I continued to assist him as best I could, watching the frustration bubble in his eyes. This in turn made me angry, recalling the awful feeling of uselessness I had felt in the gym, the frustration I had felt since my arrival here in the arena, and the more I failed to be useful the angrier I got. My rage finally broke as I held out a large, thick branch to him, identical in my eyes to the one in his hand, only to have him grimace and shake his head. Fuming, I had flung it to the ground, and was opening my mouth to declare my frustrations when Caleb's head had snapped up suddenly.

"Do you think you could catch us some dinner? We're gonna be hungry later, and I'm no good hungry!"

He had grinned at me disarmingly as I blinked, my rage subsiding into relief as I grasped at the suggested task.

"Sure, no problem."

I had gratefully ducked for my knife pack and turned on my heel, walking as fast as possible into the woods.

"Get as much as you can, we can store it up," he called after me, and I had smiled ruefully. I knew 'take your time' when I heard it, but I was happy to do so. I was overwhelmingly glad just to be useful, have a task I could actually accomplish, and I had trekked out long and far, my mind immediately engrossed on my new task. But that had been some time ago now, and it was only now as I turned and glanced back the way I had come that I noticed the shadows in the trees were darker than they had been. Not dusk yet, but the signal that it was imminent. And that meant I should get back to base. That is, if I even had one.

For the first time since setting out on my single minded mission, my thoughts were back to Caleb. I felt unreasonably guilty for the ease with which I had been willing to abandon our partnership; I couldn't imagine it was a good sign, and yet every fibre of my body had sagged in relief at his direction to go off on my own. As much as I may have been glad of Caleb's company, it was taking some adjustment, and I had spent the last few hours revealing in being alone, giving barely a thought to my newly acquired partner.

I wonder if he felt the same. It's unlikely, given his tendency to friendliness, and yet I can't help but feel after our exchange earlier that he may have been wise if he had chosen to walk off and leave me. My stomach clenches at the thought, and I immediately realise that I'm not ready to be alone. Not ready to be a partner maybe, but also not to be alone. Not yet. So where does that leave me?

My mind winces at this question that it can't answer before I push it aside; I can't think about that now. If nothing else, I have half a dozen dead birds at my feet, and I can't eat them alone. I stoop to pick them up and sling them over my shoulder, beginning my trek back to our supposed base. I had walked further than I thought, and by the time I come across the stream the sun is red and low in the sky. I round the corner to our base and immediately draw to a halt. My heart starts to pound as I take in the empty clearing and I realise my worst fears have come true. He's gone.

My heart thuds heavily in my chest as I drop the birds to the ground. He left me. He actually left me. Somehow, despite considering that he might, I didn't think he actually would, and now that he has I realise how glad I was to have him. I pace the clearing, my eyes tuning this way and that, searching for any sign that he might still be here, that he might have set up camp and gone out for supplies, but I see nothing, nobody. The clearing is as bare as when we first arrived. In fact, the only sign that we were here at all is the branch I picked out, still discarded where I left it.

I swallow hard as I stoop to pick it up, a sick feeling in my stomach. I feel like it's mocking me, a sign of my foolishness. _You wanted to be alone_, it's saying. _Now you are_. I turn to look back the way I came, fingering the branch as I stare at the darkening skyline. I'll have to climb a tree, I suppose. Start from scratch. I hadn't realised how quickly I had assimilated Caleb into my plans, how lost I would feel without him, and the idea that he was so easily able to abandon me is hurting more than I had ever imagined it could. I heave a heavy sigh, steeling myself, and have just taken a step forward when arms grab my waist from behind, pinning me.

"And where do you think _you_ are going?"

The voice mutters low in my ear, breath warm against my skin, and panic takes over as my heart leaps in fear. I immediately slam my elbows backwards, digging my attacker in the chest, and as he stumbles turn quickly, swinging the branch hard. I realise its Caleb just as it makes contact with his shoulder, and whilst I am to catch the momentum, lessening the blow somewhat, I am unable to stop it hitting him, a dull thud echoing in my ears.

"Tyla! It's me!"

He stumbles back, holding his hands defensively as I breathe heavily, dropping the branch.

"Caleb!"

It comes out in a gasp and I realise I am breathless, panic thudding through my body.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!"

I clutch clumsily at his shoulder, instinctively wanting to smother the pain from my blow, and he winces.

"No, It's my fault. Jumping out at someone in the Hunger Games is a bad idea. Message received."

I laugh a little with relief, both that he doesn't seem to be in too much pain and that he's still here in the first place, and then glance down at the branch.

"Are you OK? That wasn't exactly a soft blow."

He laughs and shakes his head, rubbing his shoulder.

"No it wasn't! You've got quite the arm on you! But I think I'll survive. Consider it a lesson learned."

I laugh again and watch as he tests his shoulder, wincing slightly.

"Just bruised, I think. That'll teach me to ambush you. I just couldn't resist, when you couldn't see me."

Now that I'm over the shock of his arrival I suddenly click into what he's saying and frown.

"Yea, where did you come from?"

He's still rubbing his shoulder, a pained expression on his face, but at my words his eyes light up and he grins widely.

"I was in our shelter. Impressed?"

My eyes widen as I take in where he's gesturing. Behind him, as far as I can see, is the unchanged ridge with the surrounding trees. Nothing looks different, or disturbed, and I blink in confusion.

"What? Where is it?"

He steps behind me, steering me with his arm until I am right up against the ridge, and it's only then that I spot a narrow opening that seems to be built into the wall. He reaches past me to pull aside the greenery and I gasp. What was once the front of the wall has been broken away, and in its place is a false covering of willowy branches and moss. It curves so neatly over the bend of the ridge that it literally seems to be all in one piece- my eyes feel like they are playing tricks on me.

Speechless, I duck into the shelter and look around. It's narrow but long, with plenty of space for both of us, and it's surprisingly warm. The covering is made of bent branches and woven leaves, and the moss and peat outer coating is thick enough that I don't think any light will be visible from the outside. I turn to Caleb in astonishment as he ducks in beside me and he grins, unable to hide the pride from his face as he takes in my expression.

"Not bad, huh."

"Not bad…." I trail off, looking around, and then turn back to him. "It's unbelievable. Nobody would know we were here at all!"

He nods ruefully "Yea, a lesson I learned the hard way!"

He nudges me with his injured shoulder and I laugh, looking around again.

"I can't believe you did this!" He shrugs modestly, but there's a spark of pleasure in his eyes.

"Everyone's got a hidden talent."

He drops the birds I collected to the ground as he says it and we both look down at my haul, then up at each other. After a moment, my face breaks into a grin. I can't help it. Looking at our massive haul for dinner, in our shelter so secretive I couldn't see it even when I was looking for it, I feel a sudden burst of elation. For the first time since landing in the arena, I feel like I've achieved something. And it's all because of Caleb. I'm struck with a sudden urge to hug him, but just the thought is enough to send my pulse racing, so instead I settle for punching him on the shoulder.

"We're really bloody good aren't we!" I blurt, and he laughs loudly like an overexcited child.

"Yes Tyla Ravenscroft, we really bloody are."


End file.
